


Shout*For: Act I

by ErinPtah



Series: It Won't Cost Much (Just Your Voice) [1]
Category: Fake News FPF, Saturday Night Live RPF, The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Community: longfic_bingo, Disney, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Crush, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Italy, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Movie Creation, Teen Romance, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 81,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinPtah/pseuds/ErinPtah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Universe: Disney Teen Pop Stars. Jon and "Stephen" are in a manufactured boy band with Jimmy and Tucker. They're about to get some cross-promotion with Olivia, their universe's equivalent of Miley Cyrus.</p><p>These kids are only thrown together based on whatever will get the best publicity, but there are still genuine Best Friendships Forever to be forged...which is good, because with high-pressure careers in the fishbowl of celebrity, sometimes friends are the only thing that keep you going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Living On The Edge Of The World

**Author's Note:**

> Ideas and Disney-tween-marketing expertise/dirt provided by politicette.

"Heeey, Lisa!" exclaimed a bubbly voice, startling the well-dressed fourteen-year-old as she closed her locker. "How's it going?"

"Whoa, Sadie, you scared me!" stammered Lisa, nearly dropping her distinctive glitter-covered binder. "Don't leap out of nowhere, like that, okay?"

"Leap? Me? Nonsense. I'm very subtle." Her friend batted her lashes, unconvincingly. With big eyes and a wide grin full of teeth, plus a chirpy cartoonish voice that was almost as loud as her plaid sundress, she would have stood out anywhere. "Anyway, that's not the point! The point is: are you coming to see football practice tonight?"

It was Lisa's turn to be unconvincing. "Football practice? Why would I want to see football practice? I mean, whoa, is that tonight? I had no idea!"

They fell in step together walking down the hall, other students milling around them. "I guess you also had no idea that a certain Flint Adams will be there?"

"I d-don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, Lisa, fess up." Her friend leaned over and revealed, in a stage whisper: "I saw the picture of him in your locker!"

"Well, Sadie, whatever you think you saw, I will definitely not make it to that practice. No matter who may, or may not be there. Hey, look at the time! I'm going to be late for math."

She waved and veered off down a different hall.

_Wow, that was close. I have got to be more careful...._

_My name is Lisa Munn, and the truth is, I totally have a crush on Flint Adams. He's the captain of the football team, he's really nice, oh, and he has great hair._

_But someone like me doesn't have time for crushes. You see, I'm not just a high school student and an up-and-coming singer here in sunny Malibu. I also live a double life...._

 

~*~

 

"Great! Fantastic. Let's try that again, one more time, from the top!"

Olivia suppressed a groan and pulled off her headphones. "Can I get a drink first?"

"Someone get Lisa a drink!" yelled the producer. Into the recording booth he added, "Let's try to wrap this voiceover up soon, okay, doll? Jessica's in makeup, and we get like an hour to shoot her scenes before child labor comes down on us."

That cheered Olivia up a little. Six-year-old Jessica Williams, in the role of her sidekick's little sister, was too cute not to enjoy working with. Even if they always gave her the stupidest lines.

"Thanks," she said as a stagehand twice her age handed her a water bottle. Right. She was going to pull it together, and she was going to be a goddamn professional about this, and in a couple hours she would get to sit down with Kristen (who was about ten times less annoying than "Sadie", even though that was her natural voice) and work on their actual math homework and count the days until their contracts were up.

 

~*~

_On a sound stage across the lot...._

"Cut!" shouted Kilborn, grinding the crew to a halt (and making more than a few awkwardly turn laughs into coughs). The next moment he was striding up onto the set, making two of the teen boys wince, one (Jon was sure, though he wasn't looking) hide a smirk, and one, Jon himself, plaster his _yes sir, no disrespect here sir_ face over the sudden desire to punch something.

"Was that your line?" demanded Kilborn, once he was towering over Jon. "Was that anything _like_ your line?"

"No, it was not," said Jon promptly. _It was actually funny._

"And what did I say the last time you had trouble remembering your lines?"

Jon crossed his arms. It probably looked more wannabe-threatening than assertive given the leather jacket, but what the hell, he hadn't picked it. "I remember the whole script. You want to quiz me on it? Stephen's next line is 'But what if I still have a crush on Crystal?' Tucker's first line in the next scene is 'Hey, guys, why don't we go check out—'"

Kilborn groaned, lowered his voice to the point where nobody but Jon and his co-stars would hear, and hissed, "Is there anything about improvising in your contract?"

"No," admitted Jon.

"Is there anything about being a smartass in your contract?"

Jon bit back the temptation to say _it's kind of an integral part of the image your PR guys picked out for me._ "No."

"Good!" said the producer in a pseudo-normal voice, grinning like a skull and clapping Jon brightly on the shoulder. "Glad we understand each other. All right, places, everyone, we'll take it from the top of the scene!"

He jogged off-set. As Jon moved back into position, he caught the band's manager on the sidelines looking grim and felt an actual pang of regret. It was one thing to antagonize Kilborn, who had a default baseline of irritation that he had to work with real teenage human beings rather than some kind of robots, or maybe nice obedient CGI. But Jon respected Mr. Williams, and didn't like to disappoint him.

Fine. He would do the ridiculous scene, line for line, like it was Shakespeare. And if he couldn't totally fake the scripted enthusiasm, well, they all knew he hadn't passed his audition on acting skills in the first place.

 

~*~

 

"Do I have to?" whispered Stephen. He knew Jimmy was excited and all, but Jon was so... _rebellious._ No respect for authority at all!

"Stephen." Jimmy gave him the half-reproachful, half-sad look that did Things to Stephen's heart. "You promised."

"Oh, all right." Squaring his shoulders, Stephen knocked on Jon's dressing-room door.

It wasn't Jon who answered, but the manager for everything to do with the band, who was for many reasons one of Stephen's favorite managers. Total professional, killer deadpan, perfect hair. Stephen broke into his sunniest smile. "Well, it looks like Jon's busy! We'll try again some other time."

"Hold on a minute," said Brian. "I'm sure Jon's not too busy to hang out. Is that what you were after, by any chance?"

"What a great guess!" exclaimed Jimmy, before Stephen could deflect. "We were especially hoping he liked the beach, and also smoothies. Isn't that right, Stephen?"

Grin frozen on his face, Stephen nodded.

Jon chose that moment to come into view. His downtime ensemble, in spite of all the teen clothing lines that would have happily donated any number of styles and colors to a member of Shout*For, was a grey T-shirt and khaki shorts. "What's this about smoothies?"

Jimmy subtly elbowed Stephen, who managed, "They're delicious and you should have one with us."

"They are pretty good," admitted Jon. He threw a nervous look at Brian. "Did you want to keep me longer, or...? I mean, I don't have to rush out of the studio any more, so there's no hurry."

Okay, that did it. Stephen had been dubious about this whole idea, but he was even less interested in putting up with Jon showing off how _he_ had just turned sixteen, and could stay at work a whole hour longer before industry restrictions on minors kicked him off. "Oh, no you don't. Get your flip-flops on and follow us, Jon Stewart, unless you are afraid to meet the smoothie shop that will _blow your mind_."

Brian patted him on the shoulder. "Go ahead. Have some fun."

For a moment it looked like Jon was going to be contrary just for the sake of it. Then he shrugged, and his whole face relaxed into something downright normal. "Yeah, all right. Gimme a second to grab my wallet."

 

~*~

 

It was Jon's first winter in LA, and he couldn't get used to the climate. Especially by the ocean, where it was most blatantly the opposite of the Jersey shore. It wasn't natural. Beaches in early December were supposed to be cold and grey and unforgiving, as God intended.

This afternoon he was distracted by the even-more-unnatural spectacle of Stephen Col-bert, the world's most obnoxious career-TV-child-extra-turned-teen-heartthrob, trying to be nice. (To someone who wasn't Jimmy, anyway.)

"So how long have you two known each other, anyway?" asked Jon. "I mean, you obviously met before the whole...thing." He did a vague wave that was supposed to cover the whole Shout*For franchise, from the concert tour to the terrible TV show to the Doritos ads. The four boys had been thrown together for maximum marketability, so it wasn't like they were all required to be friends, but Jon was still kind of embarrassed that he'd been working with these two since spring and didn't know these basic facts yet.

"We met as co-stars on a highly respected educational children's television —" began Stephen.

"It was _Barney and Friends_ ," said Jimmy.

Jon snickered. Stephen glared. Jimmy took an innocent sip of his (bright green) smoothie.

"It was a natural next step in my acting career," said Stephen stiffly. The smoothie on the table in front of him was in layers of red, white, and blue, and he had been similarly miffed when Jon pointed out that it looked more like the French flag than the American one. "I was ready to move on to roles more substantial than 'Little Boy' and 'First grader #1' and 'Young Brandon in flashback'."

"He tried to make the rest of us do auditions to be his best friend," added Jimmy. "I was the only one who showed up. So he said I could have the position on a six-month trial period."

"Uh, wow," said Jon. "That's very...dedicated."

What he wanted to say was _Did you get the crazy from your parents, or was that all you?_ But he had at least picked up that Stephen had Stage Parents, or at least a Stage Dad, and you couldn't help your parents' crazy.

"Thank you." Stephen puffed up, either ignoring or oblivious to the halfheartedness of the compliment. "What about you? You only got into the business this year, didn't you? What's it like being totally new to all of this? Aside from still having no idea how to behave on a set, I mean."

Okay, that did it. Jon opened his mouth to say something snarky, something cutting, something about how _he_ had gotten here on raw talent put up against hundreds of other normal guys (and with next to zero parental support, no less) while _Stephen_ had gotten an easy ride based on having some of the only parents in America willing to put their toddler on camera in bad TV.

What came out instead was, "Oh my god I hate it here."

Judging by the stares, neither of them had been expecting that either.

At a loss for a follow-up, Jon folded his arms on the table and put his head down. He didn't know what he was thinking: maybe that the other two would slink away and save them all some embarrassment.

What he got instead was a few awkward pats on the shoulder from Jimmy, and Stephen doing something that made his phone chime, saying, "I'm getting us a car. Just keep it together until it shows up, okay? But even if you can't, I've got extra sunglasses. Hang in there."

 

~*~

_Across town, at Olivia's place._

"Who wants some quality non-alcoholic beverages?" asked Olivia, pushing the cart out onto her patio.

Wyatt, who was riding the green dragon (that wasn't a metaphor for anything, he was just in the pool with the inflatable tube shaped like a dragon), pushed down its head to get a better look at her and said, "That means vodka, right?"

"Shh!" hissed Kristen, thwapping him over the head with a foam noodle. ("Ow!" moped Wyatt.) "Plausible deniability, remember?"

"Don't worry," said Olivia, mixing herself some hard orange soda. "Either of you get fired, I've got you covered. Kristen, you can have the lunch box money. Wyatt, the charm bracelets would keep you in style."

She threw it out there like it was a joke, but in all seriousness Olivia had no idea what she would do without a couple of actual friends involved in her work days. Go full-blown underage alcoholic, probably. Rehab at sixteen, MTV special about her struggles and inspirational recovery at eighteen, and why was she even thinking about this? What she drank was mostly soda anyway. Just with a little something thrown in to take the edge off from being called "Lisa" all day.

"Nah, you don't need to worry about me," said Wyatt calmly. "I'd just get an early start on the thing I have planned for after all this anyway."

"Yeah?" Olivia handed a Sprite with orange schnapps to Kristen, who had paddled over to the edge of the pool. "What's your plan?"

Wyatt grinned and patted the inflatable dragon-head. "Puppets."

"Puppets?" echoed Olivia, raising her eyebrows.

Kristen had no such skepticism. "Ooh!" she exclaimed. "Can I do one of the voices?"

"Man, if I am ever running my own puppet empire, you can do _all_ the voices."

"Hey, no fair." Olivia sat on the edge of the pool and dangled her legs in the water. "You can't monopolize Kristen. She's too awesome to be stuck in voice acting. No offense."

Kristen took another gulp of her drink and set it on the tile. "Maybe I _want_ to do voice acting. Maybe that's my dream career. We can't all be high-powered triple-threat megastars like you, Leading Lady Lisa."

"You take that back!" ordered Olivia, splashing her. She was stuck with _Lisa_ as far as PR went by this point, but that didn't mean she was going to put up with it from her BFFs.

Sticking out her tongue, Kristen kicked off the edge of the pool and sailed out of Olivia's reach. "Make me!"

"Ooh, you're gonna regret saying that," said Olivia, and leaped into the water.

 

~*~

_Night, behind Stephen's house._

After sobbing through his issues for the entire car ride, and then for a while longer in Stephen's foyer, Jon couldn't be tense and prickly around Stephen and Jimmy any more. Not after they had stayed with him through an outpouring of everything that could possibly be used to humiliate him, listening with sympathy and patting his back and keeping the tissues coming.

There was a lot to get through. A year ago Jon had been one more disaffected Jersey latchkey kid who had no real friends and played guitar because he couldn't think of any more cliché way to work out his teenage angst. Then he'd gone and nailed that audition, and all of a sudden he was trying to finish the ninth grade with a tutor in between nonstop rehearsals of manufactured pop songs (even if some of them were kind of catchy) with two guys who were already buddies and one who was a _total_ dick, and oh by the way he'd better not swear anywhere a camera might catch it, or kiss anyone who wasn't company-approved, and he could either pick a less-Jewish stage name for himself or they would pick one for him (granted, Jon hadn't been real big on sharing his dad's last name for a few years now, but it was a change he'd expected to be able to ease into). On top of which, once they got through the summer touring season it would be time to start recording the Christmas album, which he would do unironically in between filming the world's worst-written TV show and reading TMZ interviews with his former classmates about what close friends they had been.

He'd wanted to quit so many times. But he also wanted to save up enough to buy his mom a new house, and to eventually move on from his contract with the Mouse with a reliable work ethic to show off to future non-terrible potential employers. Besides, by now he was in so deep that backing out would only make things worse: it would be a Story, the kind the paparazzi would pounce on with teeth.

Sitting on the beach that constituted the end of Stephen's back yard, finally able to relax and act like a human being rather than an emotional wreck, was the first time in months that Jon had thought maybe this wasn't so bad.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," Jimmy assured him. "I had a whole emotional meltdown right on the set about a year after I got into this business. They had to call my mom and everything. Remember, Stephen?"

"Yep," said Stephen. "Although of course, you were nine at the time."

"Well, I got it together with only you idiots for help, so it evens out," said Jon. He was actually getting the hang of bantering with Stephen. As long as you assumed 90% of what he said was meaningless bluster, and kept in mind that he was a decent guy underneath it, you could even see it as sort of cute.

Stephen snorted. "Nice try. You realize there are a hundred thousand nine-to-fourteen-year-old girls who would _kill_ for the chance to cry about their problems on my shoulder, right?"

Jon grinned. "Only because they've never actually met you."

It made Jimmy laugh, which meant Jon was safe from Stephen getting seriously offended. Sure enough, Stephen gave him a friendly sort of shove and left it at that.

 

~*~

_One week later, on the road._

Stephen couldn't find his Vaxasopor, and didn't want to wake up either of his managers to ask for more. (Brian was too nice a guy to disturb, and as for the man who coordinated Stephen's solo gigs...Stephen didn't want to deal with him right now, okay?) So he was awake as their bus rumbled down the empty early-morning highway, catching up with his Tweets, even though once they arrived he had to make a personal appearance at a promo event for Prescott Cosmetics before joining the rest of Shout*For on stage. At least they weren't doing the whole show. It was Lisa Munn's concert tour; they were just opening it.

He killed a little more time browsing Shout*For-related tags on his secret Tumblr (unicorngirl18) (used mostly for reblogging sparkle-covered manips of himself) before he got up to hit the bathroom and realized there was a light on in Jon's bunk behind the half-closed curtain.

When he got back to the bedroom, Stephen shimmied up the ladder past Tucker's bunk and swung himself onto Jon's. "What's keeping you up so late?" he asked, leaning over to examine his book and squinting at the pages illuminated by the booklight. That was a lot of text.

"Honors US History," replied Jon quietly. "At least, it's supposed to be honors. The last quiz seemed way too easy."

"You know you don't have to do that, right?" said Stephen, concerned. "Legally all we have to get through is seventh grade, and then we're through worrying about all that _learning_ and _facts_ nonsense."

Jon raised his eyebrows. Lit from beneath, it looked downright ghoulish. "Yeah, well, some of us actually want to go to college one day. Make sure we've got more career options than just this."

"What do you mean, 'just' this?" demanded Stephen under his breath. He waved his hand in front of Jon's face. "As long as you stick with competent marketing people, this is all the career option you need! Girls all across America want to be your boyfriend. You could milk that dry and retire on it if you wanted!"

"...Want me to be _their_ boyfriend," corrected Jon.

"That's what I said," agreed Stephen. "Besides, what are you ever going to need to know all this for?" He scooted up far enough to see the pages right-side-up, and poked an infographic about...American movements for social change in the 1900s-1920s? Some of those looked an awful lot like socialism, too. "The basics of American history are all covered by middle school, and everybody who doesn't become a history teacher forgets the rest of it by the time they're grown-ups anyway."

Jon sighed. "All right, I'll bite. What are these basics?"

"Christopher Columbus discovered it, George Washington kicked out the limeys, they wrote a Constitution which is perfect and divinely inspired except for that bit about the slaves but that's no big deal because Abraham Lincoln freed them, we saved Europe in World War II, the first Catholic president inspired us to go to the Moon, Reagan singlehandedly ended the Cold War, and now we are the only remaining superpower and the greatest most perfect country God gave man on this Earth. The end," said Stephen proudly.

Jon stared. Speechless with awe, Stephen was sure.

"Oh, right, and something about women getting the right to vote was in there," he added as an afterthought. "Which is good, because can you imagine our chances of winning the Kids' Choice Awards if they only counted votes from the boys? There aren't nearly enough gay guys out there to make up the difference. And even if there were, a lot of them would still be swayed by how fabulous Lisa Munn is."

"Just out of curiosity," said Jon, "is this how your conversations with Jimmy usually go?"

"No," said Stephen. "Jimmy usually has the sense to agree with me from the start, instead of putting up a fight until he has to admit that I've nailed him."

"Ah."

Satisfied, Stephen settled back against the head of Jon's bed and considered the textbook again. At least the socialist infographic was pretty.

"Hey, don't take this the wrong way," said Jon, "but why are _you_ awake?"

"Can't find my pills," shrugged Stephen.

Jon appraised him for a minute. "Hey, uh...you wanna take one of mine?"

Stephen perked up. "Can I?"

"Don't see why not," said Jon. "It's the same dose, and I'm not supposed to take any more for a couple weeks anyway. And you've got some solo thing to do tomorrow, right? All I have to do is sit around and do mic checks."

"You are my new second-favorite person," declared Stephen, squashing Jon into a hug. "How would you feel about being my Best Jewish Friend? On a trial basis, obviously."

With a quiet sigh, Jon leaned into the hug. "Oddly enough, I think I'd feel pretty good."


	2. Restless Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia's on a whirlwind cross-continental tour, with Shout*For (including Stephen's skeevy solo manager) tagging along as her opening act, and more projects waiting in the wings to hit all the performers as soon as it's over. Stephen, Jon, and Jimmy bond over Disney movies; Jimmy, Jon, and Olivia bond over inappropriate jokes.

_New York, New York: Lisa Munn's The Girl's A Star! Tour: lunch break._

Jon felt bad for Jimmy. He really did. But one of them had to sit next to Tucker, and it wasn't going to be him.

So it was Jimmy in the middle and Jon on one side, with an empty chair to Jon's left...that was abruptly filled by Lisa Munn herself, dropping her cardboard plate and cup of soda on the tablecloth in front of her. "Hi there!" she said brightly. "Shout*For, right? Don't tell me...." She pointed to each in turn. "The preppy one, the cute one, and the bad boy with a heart of gold. Where's the handsome one?"

Jimmy shrugged. "Off getting photographed in front of stacks of hair gel or something."

"Nice try, Jimmy, but maybe you should stick to what you're good at," put in Tucker. "It's _face wash_."

"Tucker, don't be a dick," said Jon brightly, before ignoring him in favor of Lisa. "Can I tell you something? Stephen's not actually handsome. The face you see on TV and in concerts, that's a rubber mask. His actual features? Total Hunchback of Notre Dame."

Jimmy giggled, while Lisa snickered in appreciation and came right back at him. "That's nothing. You want to know my dirty little secret that the Mouse doesn't want the public to know...? _I'm actually Asian._ "

"No!" exclaimed Jon, with exaggerated amazement. "But your TV parents are so...blonde!"

"I know, right?" Lisa grinned. "Uh, your actual name is Jon, right? And Jimmy. Nice to meet you. Call me Olivia."

"She only lets people she likes call her that," explained Jimmy in a hushed voice, before accepting a high-five of greeting.

Jon got one too, though he came within a hair's breadth of missing. "So, ah," he said, "did they make you change it too, or is this a voluntary thing, or what?"

Olivia took a gulp of her soda before replying. "Full legal name is Lisa Olivia Munn. By the time I realized I'd rather go by Olivia, I was already branded up to my eyeballs as Lisa, so to most people I'm stuck with it. What happened with you?"

"Well." Jon picked at his sandwich. "Stuart's actually my middle name, and my last name was...too Jewy for them, apparently." He grimaced. "Mr. Williams has managed to keep me from getting stuck with TV parents, which is good, because I'm pretty sure Kilborn's been pushing to cast a couple of WASPs."

"Sucks," agreed Olivia. She bent closer, lowering her voice almost to a whisper; Jimmy leaned over Jon's shoulder to hear. "Hey, can I ask you something? Just between us?"

"...go ahead."

"Did that whole Holocaust thing _really_ happen, or...?"

Jimmy squeaked, Tucker choked on a bite of apple, and Jon stared in disbelief for a couple seconds before breaking into a grin. "You are a terrible, terrible person, Olivia Munn," he said approvingly. "When they finally work it out and fire you, call me up, because I want to be in your indie band."

"Oh, they're not going to work it out," said Lisa brightly, peeling her orange. With her fingers. Her nails were very sharp. "Because you three are the only ones that heard that little quip, and none of you are going to share it. Right?"

Jimmy and Jon both looked at Tucker.

"Hey, just because you're sucking up to her doesn't mean I have to," said Tucker crossly. "I don't know if it's because you think she's hot, or what, but come on, she can't just say things like —"

"Like what?" interrupted Jon. "I can't remember hearing anything that might violate her conscience clause. Can you, Jimmy?"

"Nope." Jimmy's innocent face was a lot more convincing than Jon's. "Don't know what you're talking about."

 

~*~

 

Stephen was disappointed that there weren't more cameras on his way out of the launch party. Sure, he had been photographed a couple dozen times while inside, usually in front of walls plastered with the Prescott Cosmetics logo, but it wasn't like they could have too many pictures of him. Especially with all the effort that had gone into this hairdo. (The whole front of his hair fanned up in a wavy arc off his forehead, a hundred separate pieces gelled individually together. He looked like some kind of exotic palm frond.)

His solo-project manager, and constant companion for events like this, put a hand between Stephen's shoulder blades to guide him into the limo.

As soon as they were buckled in, Stephen pulled out his phone. Maybe if he looked busy enough, Ned would let him get away without a critique, just this once. As long as he hadn't done anything outright wrong, it wouldn't hurt to skip the advice on what he could have handled even better, right?

No such luck. The older man, sitting across from Stephen, got his attention gently with a hand on Stephen's leg. "Hey, buddy, did you sleep okay last night? Because that was an elementary mistake you made out there."

Stephen tensed. "What? What did I do?"

"The quote I caught was 'no, Jimmy doesn't need any face wash, his skin is baby-soft all by itself.' And I didn't hear everything. Were there any more gems like that I might need to look out for in the blogs this evening?"

"But...have you ever felt Jimmy's face?" protested Stephen. "It's like touching a cloud. A cloud made of babies!"

Ned gave his thigh a warning squeeze. "It doesn't matter what your friend's face feels like! Nobody's paying you to hand out facts here, Stephen. _Everyone_ in the product's target market would benefit from using the product. No exceptions."

"Oh." Stephen shrank into his seat, thinking back over the other answers he had given. Tucker had a few tried-and-true favorite skin care products, Jon gamely used whatever bottle the stylist had handed him last, and of course Stephen used all Prescott, all the time. "Don't worry, that was the only one. I didn't mention any other brand names, either."

"Glad to hear it." The man's palm was lying relaxed again; he started massaging Stephen's leg reassuringly with his thumb. "And in the future, don't talk too much about what your bandmates' skin feels like, got it?"

Now that wasn't part of anything Stephen could remember being coached on. "Why not?"

"It's one of those things a straight-laced young man like yourself isn't expected to know. Even about your close friends."

"You know what my face feels like," pointed out Stephen. "And I'm way less close to you than Jimmy is to me."

Ned sighed. "Look, Stephen...I take care of you, don't I?"

"Yes," Stephen admitted, fidgeting.

"And have I ever steered you wrong before?"

"No."

"Then stop trying to think all this out for yourself. Worrying about these details is not your job, understand? Your job is to look good, sing and dance for the folks, and listen to what I tell you. And what I'm telling you today is that as of right now, you don't know what any of your peers feel like. Or smell like — except in situations where we're promoting a specific fragrance. Got it?"

"I think so," said Stephen uncertainly. The caress on his leg was strangely un-comforting. He wished he had Jimmy or Jon around for a proper hug, even if he wouldn't be allowed to admit to it later. "I do still know what they look like, though, right?"

 

~*~

 

As usual, the dressing room door had only just barely closed before Stephen was shirtless. Tucker had given up complaining every time, but was still putting in a token protest every few shows. 

Sounded like today was going to be one of them. "Have a little class, Col-bert!" he said sharply, while undoing his bow tie. "One of these days somebody's going to sneak in after us and get photos. You know that, right?"

"Let 'em," said Stephen with a shrug, prying off his designer shoes. "Waste of effort anyway. They'd be better off taking screenshots of the beach episode."

"Which one?" asked Jimmy.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's every episode," put in Jon before disappearing into the bathroom. He'd gotten into the habit of heading straight for the sinks once they were offstage for the night, washing away a layer of makeup and sweat before trying to tackle anything else. It was an instant shot of refreshment even when he was crashing hard off a full night's adrenaline high.

The ritual had started during the summer tour, as a way to make it less awkward that he didn't exactly talk to anyone. These days he had at least Stephen talking to him on the way in...and from the next room...and throughout the showers. And, on this particular night, while breezing past Jon toward the first stall without a stitch of clothing on: "Did you check the soap? Please let them have nice soap."

(Sometimes Jon got hellishly jealous over how comfortable Stephen was in his own skin.)

The venue did, in fact, provide its stars with decent soap, as Jon discovered a minute later after Tucker, Jimmy, and finally he had made their way to the other stalls in various stages of mostly-undress. "I don't know how we survived during the full tour," groaned Jon over the spray as he lathered up to his hairline and behind his ears. "Just one set tonight and we are _rank_."

"Mm," said Stephen, in a way that sounded like agreement. Then he went on, "Wait, what? Did we smell bad? Because I could not have told you that."

"Yes, Stephen, we know you think you always smell like roses," said Tucker.

Not surprisingly, it was Jimmy who jumped in to change the subject. "Did anyone else look at the outfits they hung up for us? They all match! I mean, different clothes, obviously, but they're all in the same three shades of red."

"So when we're signing stuff, everyone who's not right up at the front of the line is going to see us as a homogeneous blob?" said Jon uncertainly. He wondered if this was some kind of subtle hint from the higher-ups. _Stay in line, and don't try to stand out too much._

"Jon!" exclaimed Stephen, scandalized. "We're not 'homogeneous' anything! That would go against our conscience clauses."

Jon facepalmed. Not his brightest move: he had to spend the next two minutes trying to flush and/or blink the soap out of his eyes.

 

~*~

_Post-tour, on the bus home._

"All right, gentlemen, settle down," said Brian, waving for quiet around the small table. Outside the tinted window, a picturesque slice of Nevada desert rolled by. "I know you're looking forward to having some down time before we get back to the real world, but we do actually have a couple of things to get to this morning."

Stephen was nearly bouncing with excitement, waiting for his chance to do the big reveal. He'd only gotten the news last night; Ned had even called Stephen into his own single bunk room to deliver it, ensuring it would be a surprise for everybody else.

"First order of business...Stephen, why don't you tell them?"

"I'm doing a movie!" burst out Stephen.

There were grins and congratulations from everyone. Even Tucker seemed sincere about it.

"Okay, _technically,_ Lisa Munn is doing a movie and I'm going to be in it," added Stephen, making a brief concession to reality before going back to the good bits. (Not that getting to work with Lisa wouldn't be good. Stephen hadn't even managed to meet her during the tour, though the others had; Jimmy giggled nervously when asked about it, Jon said she was pretty cool and left it at that, and Tucker refused to acknowledge it had happened.) "I'm the love interest. We get to record a duet together! It's set for a Christmas release, and we're going to Italy in a couple weeks to do location shots. Italy!"

Jon looked impressed at that. "Seriously? And here I thought I'd never beat out Toronto for most-exotic place visited."

Stephen coughed, and Jimmy fidgeted. Before Brian could intervene with something tactful, Tucker came right out with it: "He didn't say _you're_ going to Italy."

"Thank you, Tucker," said Brian, taking over. "The film isn't a Shout*For vehicle, except in the sense that we're hoping people will like Stephen and go looking for his other work. The rest of us will be back in LA, keeping up the show, where Stephen will be out of the action for a few episodes."

Jon shrugged it off as best he could. "Right, of course. Sorry, my mistake."

"Nothing to worry about," Brian assured him. "Second item on the agenda: before we start work on the next album, you're going to be releasing a cover of a classic song from the Disney animated canon. The plan is for you to choose the song that's most personally meaningful or nostalgic for some or all of you, so that marketing can play that up in their spin..."

"Part Of Your World!" said Stephen instantly.

"Hakuna Matata!" added Jimmy.

Brian pushed a jewel case across the table, holding a CD and a printed list of tracks. "...as long as it's one of these songs they've pre-approved."

The quartet bent over the list. Stephen, who had been worried for a second there, went back to swooning. So many good movies! (Also _Treasure Planet_ , but you couldn't have everything.) How was he supposed to settle on one?

"I'd have fun playing most of these," said Jimmy, echoing Stephen's train of thought. "Jon? What's your favorite movie on this list?"

"Um," said Jon. "The only one I've seen is _The Jungle Book_ , so I guess that one."

Stephen gaped at him. "You've never seen _Mulan_?"

"Nope."

"Or _Hercules_? Or _Lady and the Tramp_? You've NEVER seen _Aladdin_?!"

Jon was getting grouchy. Embarrassed at the lack of depth in his cinematic experience, no doubt. "Listen, Stephen, not every kid grew up living and breathing this —"

"You have to see them," interrupted Stephen. "He has to see them! Right, Brian? Carve out time in our schedules. List it as rehearsal! This is _imperative_ for the future of our careers."

"You are not getting your movie nights put down as billable hours," said Brian pleasantly. "But," he continued, before Stephen could pout, "we can certainly have a complimentary set of DVDs waiting at Jon's place by tomorrow."

 

~*~

_Home again._

Olivia could take or leave boating in general, but the _Little Wonder_ was practically hers, which was more than she could say for the house, the cars, or anywhere else she might hang out. Technically the cabin cruiser was in her mother's name; in practice, Olivia herself was the only one who ever called up the driver and had it taken out on the water.

Tonight it was still at the dock, and she was chilling on the rear deck anyway. The sky was the blood-red and purple of just past sunset, an iPod planted in a set of speakers was playing music that blended in with the lapping and thudding of waves against the _Wonder_ 's hull, and Kristen and Wyatt were flipping through her preliminary copy of the film treatment.

"I don't understand why the boy even gets to choose between your characters at the end," said Kristen. "He couldn't even tell the difference between them! And now we're supposed to believe he was totally in love with You #1 all along?"

Olivia shrugged. "Boys are just stupid sometimes. Present company excepted, of course."

Kristen made a face before crunching down on another hummus-covered carrot stick. (The show was going to feature Olivia in a bikini next week, so even though she had gotten a hell of a workout on the tour, their snacks for the night were limited to a vegetable platter and fruit juice. Not that she was averse to spiking the juice, of course.)

"No offense taken," said Wyatt. "So are they going to build a whole set for the castle scenes? Because these sound pretty legit."

"Oh, right," said Olivia. "No, we're going to Venice for those, actually."

A grin spread across Wyatt's features. "Cool. Bring me back a gondola, okay?"

Kristen didn't look nearly as sanguine. "You're going away again? When? How long?"

"I dunno. A couple weeks?" said Olivia uncomfortably. She was, truth be told, totally psyched about getting to go to Italy. But she couldn't let that show in front of Kristen, or it would muddy the waters over how un-psyched she was to be going there alone. "You guys will have to Skype me every day, okay?"

"What if you get too tired to Skype?"

The unspoken end of that sentence was _...again?_ In the last two weeks of the tour Olivia had barely had the energy to eat between performances, appearances, and signings. She'd managed to text her friends updates, but extended conversations were out of her reach.

"If it's anything like the last movie, the schedule won't be nearly as exhausting as doing stage shows," pointed out Olivia. She'd even had the lead role in that production, the one that spawned the TV show and kickstarted her career as an icon, so it wasn't like they could work her a whole lot harder, right? "We had plenty of time to see each other while that was filming, remember?"

"To be fair," said Wyatt, "we were also _in_ that movie."

"You're not helping," huffed Olivia, reaching for her drink.

 

~*~

 

Jon took one last look at the late-night view from the front stoop before following Stephen inside. "You know, if they want us to believe we're all equal and important members of the band, they probably shouldn't have given you a house that's twice as big as anyone else's." He paused. "Unless Tucker's is secretly huge?"

"Not that I am not amazingly important," said Stephen, "but it's more that half my family used to live here. C'mon, the best TV room's through here. Jimmy's making the popcorn."

The "best" TV room turned out to have an honest-to-goodness movie projector aiming at the whole blank wall, and, in lieu of anything from the traditional couch family, a set of oversized beanbag chairs. Jon emptied his backpack onto a table sitting against the wall, and Stephen pulled the cases for _Lady and the Tramp_ , _Pocahontas_ , and _Tarzan_. "Let's start with one of these."

Jon pointed to the first one in the row, which happened to be _Lady and the Tramp_. "So, uh, it's just you and your dad now, right? Where did everybody else go?"

"Contracts were up, and they decided to move on. Well, except for Ed, who broke his contract, but that was before I was born." Stephen headed for the media center. At the same time Jimmy appeared in the far doorway, staggering under the weight of several 2-liter bottles of soda as well as a couple bags of microwave popcorn, and Jon jogged over to help him. "Mary got really into the technical stuff, and went to New York to do theater. Tom...I don't actually know what Tom does now. Elizabeth went back to school."

"And that's half? How much of your extended family was here?"

"None of it," said Stephen proudly. "I'm the youngest of eleven. James, Ed, Mary, Bill, Margaret, Tom, John — spelled _correctly_ , by the way, with an H — Elizabeth, Paul, Peter, and me."

"Wow," said Jon. "Just the one older brother for me."

"One older sister," put in Jimmy, now unburdened enough to slap Jon's palm in solidarity.

"So, um," Jon added, while Stephen muted the DVD player just as the room lit up with the colors of an ad for the latest remastered special edition 20th anniversary high-def blue-ray release of whatever. "You probably get lonely these days, huh."

And he'd thought it was hard being away from Mom and Larry. (His dad, not so much.) (On that note, where was Stephen's mom? Living elsewhere like the other half of his siblings, or was there a reason he hadn't mentioned her?) Jon's own official Adult Supervision on this coast was his aunt Ruth, who was nice and all, but they didn't have a whole lot to say to each other.

To his surprise, Stephen shrugged, pouring himself a Coke. "We see each other at vacations and stuff. It's not much less than when they were living here. Everyone was always working on different sets, or sometimes different cities, and we never had the same days off, and there were parties, and when I was five one of them was hospitalized for dehydration, and, you know, there's always stuff happening. Jimmy, where's the ice cream?"

Jimmy blinked. "I didn't know there was ice cream."

"There's always ice cream!" exclaimed Stephen. "No, no, you stay here, I'll get it."

Jon watched him go, then turned to Jimmy and said, under his breath, "Dehydration?"

Jimmy worried the corner of a bag of popcorn. "Stephen also believes the dog he had as a kid went to live on a farm upstate."

"Ah."

"I think he really is okay without his family around, though," added Jimmy. "I mean, when he needs company, that's what he's got us for."


	3. Meeting Across the River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia and Stephen finally meet, just in time to land in beautiful canal-laced Venice and start shooting for the movie where they play the romantic leads. That part goes well! Not going so well: friction between Stephen and on-screen sidekick Steve Carell. Jon's only able to provide support via satellite, so Olivia takes matters into her own hands.

_In the air over the Atlantic._

Olivia sat down in the free chair/bed next to Stephen Col-bert, pressed the pause button on his armrest to interrupt his viewing of _A New Hope_ , and said, "Isn't it weird to know you're going to make out with someone before you've even met them?"

"What?" stammered Stephen. "I mean, I don't know. Maybe? Unless you're psychic, in which case it would probably be pretty normal. I'm not psychic, by the way. Um, hi."

Olivia stuck out her hand. "Olivia Munn. Hi."

"So," said Stephen, accepting the handshake and trying to offer her a charming smile. "You must be Lisa Munn's stunt double, right?"

Olivia stared.

With his free hand Stephen pulled out the paused headphones. In a stage whisper he added, "Am I helping keep up your secret identity? Or do I not need to do that?"

After another second or two of boggling, Olivia cracked up. "Tooootally not necessary," she giggled, squeezing his hand. Dude had thrown her off-guard in two moves. Even with Jon, the most admirably snarky peer she'd met, she'd been the one doing the throwing. "Okay, this is early, but I'm going to go ahead and make the call that you don't suck. Which is good, because it would be a lot harder to act like your character was hot stuff if you did."

"I could act like your character was hot stuff either way!" said Stephen earnestly.

Olivia allowed herself to preen. "Yeah, I have that effect on people."

Stephen beamed. "You too?"

 

~*~

_Venice!_

Stephen was only sleeping in the lightest sense of the word, and woke up the instant his door opened. The Vaxasopor had knocked him out but hadn't kept him there, not when his body thought it was still a Californian late afternoon.

His brain, meanwhile, remembered perfectly well where it was and panicked, especially when he realized it was Ned. "I'm not late, am I?" he asked, scrambling out of bed. Here Stephen was, in nothing but boxers, completely unshaven (which he was sure would start making a difference any day now), and they might be waiting for him in makeup _right now_.

"Easy, buddy. Call time's not for half an hour," said his manager reassuringly. "I just wanted to make sure you were up. C'mon, get dressed."

"Right," said Stephen, and went for his suitcase.

It was neat to be able to pick his clothes without having to worry about hounding the guys into coordinating. Jimmy always tried, but Tucker complained a lot about the idea, and Jon usually forgot and showed up in a grey T-shirt. Stephen was starting to wonder if it was always the _same_ grey T-shirt.

He settled on a nice blue henley shirt with thin green stripes, pulled it over his head, and came out of the collar to see Ned still at the side of the room, toying with one of the flower arrangements. (It was an insanely classy hotel. Stephen's room had three vases full of live flowers, and it was only a single.) "Ned? Is there something else you needed from me?"

"Hm? No, no, carry on."

If there was something he wasn't saying, Stephen didn't have time to worry about it. He had pants to put on, after all.

Ned was standing on the route to the bathroom, and stopped Stephen before he could duck in for deodorant and other such necessities. "Hold on a minute," he said, catching Stephen by the shoulder and manually turning him around until Stephen's back was to him.

Then his hand was on the back of Stephen's neck, fingers brushing lightly through the fine hairs that swept over it.

Stephen froze. What was going on? Did he have some kind of terrible neck-rash? What if it was so bad the makeup techs couldn't cover it? He couldn't play a convincing love interest for Lisa Munn if he was disfigured like that!

"Needs a trim," concluded Ned, after a couple of long and harrowing seconds. He patted Stephen on the back to shoo him into his routine again. "Go ahead, wash up and I'll walk you downstairs."

 

~*~

 

The hotel was right up on the bank of an honest-to-goodness canal, which was not only devastatingly awesome, it meant there were a lot fewer spots for the paparazzi to hide. Hard to lurk in the bushes when there isn't even any dirt.

They ran through a dozen takes of one of Olivia's scenes with Stephen before lunch. Olivia barely had time to eat before she got dragged into her trailer for a full wardrobe-and-makeup overhaul, along with the girl who was going to act as her body double for the next scene. Lucky girl only needed half an overhaul: she was going to be edited out in most of the shots, and was ready as soon as she looked like Olivia from the back.

In spite of Kristen's reservations, Olivia was getting really into the script. It was a prince-and-the-pauper story about her first character, an up-and-coming pop star visiting an exotic European kingdom, and her second character, the restless princess who mysteriously looked just like her. A chance meeting, a hastily-arranged plan, and they ended up switching places for a few days. Stephen meanwhile was Pop Star Olivia's childhood friend, but never more than a friend — until Princess Olivia, in her place, started flirting with him.

Afternoon saw Pop Star Olivia's half of this particular scene successfully recorded; the sinking sun prevented them from trying to shoot the matching Princess Olivia half until tomorrow. The director and camera crew set out to get some nice establishing shots in the sunset and early-evening light; Olivia and the other actors got to go have dinner. She retreated to her room and picked over the menu, ordering four things that had pretty-looking photos.

The actual dishes that got delivered to her were...surprisingly close to the pictures. Olivia was impressed.

She was texting Kristen a photo of the first dessert when there was another knock. Had they forgotten something? "Come on in!"

"Can't!" countered Stephen's voice. "I'm not telekinetic either!"

When Olivia let him in, Stephen had his arms around his laptop, the cord and an adapter for Italian outlets dangling from one hand. "It's movie night. Well, movie day if you're on American time, which is obviously the correct time," he explained. "Do you want to join in? And even if you don't, can I hang out here for a while? We were going to watch _Cinderella_ , but if you really hate it we can take another vote on the runners-up."

"Uh, sure," said Olivia, waving him in. "Who's 'we'?"

"Me, Jon, and Jimmy! Tucker was invited, but he decided to ignore it, which is probably for the best. Him and Jon don't get along so well," confided Stephen. "Brian managed to set it up while I'm away so their lunch breaks and downtime are all together, and come right around now."

He made himself at home on the floor at the foot of the bed, leaning against the mattress. Olivia flopped down on her stomach on the sheets and looked over his shoulder, watching him set up the laptop and whatever connections he had to make. "Who's Brian? And do you want some of my peach semifreddo amarone?"

"Manager for Shout*For. Did they import South Carolina peaches? If not, then no, it's not worth it."

No, the Italian hotel had probably not shipped its peaches in from South Carolina. Not even to please Stephen. "I wish any of my managers were that cool," grumbled Olivia, nabbing the custard-y dish for herself. "So who's the guy creeping around on you here, then?"

"Ned does not _creep_ ," said Stephen stiffly. "He's a very good solo manager."

"He kinda does." Olivia swallowed a bite of the semifreddo. Oh, right, she'd forgotten: _amarone_ was a kind of wine. Probably for the best Stephen hadn't tried any after all. "Dude was behind me in the lunch line, said hi, so far so good, then started petting my hair. That's a little creepy."

"No, that's just Ned being Ned," said Stephen. "Shh! It's connecting."

The computer blooped at them, then the greyed-out rectangle switched to a fisheye view of Jon, peering into the webcam. "Hello? Stephen? Can you see me?"

"We're connected!" put in Jimmy, pulling Jon back and leaning into the frame next to him. "Hi, Stephen!"

Even from behind him, Olivia could tell Stephen was practically bouncing. The small panel that displayed his own webcam's view showed him grinning like a pleased puppy. "Hi! I brought Olivia, is that okay?"

"Uh, I guess so," said Jon. "Where is she?"

Olivia stuck her hand in-frame and waved.

"The rest of her is here too!" added Stephen quickly. "I'm not trying to fool you with her disembodied arm!"

"...Why would we even think that?" asked Jon.

Stephen groaned. "Do we have to add _Toy Story_ to your movie list too?"

 

~*~

 

The balcony was the picture of elegance, finely-curved white pillars holding up the railing, bright red peonies growing in armfuls all around, the view below a gorgeous expanse of ocean. Against a sapphire-blue sky, two sorta-maybe lovebirds stumbled through a tender, nervous conversation...

...then pressed into a gentle kiss. (There would be a swelling score added over these frames eventually.)

It was Olivia who pulled back, with a gasp. "I — I'm sorry, Justin. I can't do this."

Stephen's face fell. "Oh," he said faintly, trying to pull himself together. "Of course...we don't want to ruin our friendship, right? Because you're my best friend, Mel, and I wouldn't do anything to mess that up."

"That isn't it!" exclaimed Olivia. "I can't do it because...." She took a deep breath. "Because I'm not Mel."

"...what?"

Olivia poured out the whole backstory, while Stephen listened with rapt attention. "Don't get me wrong, you're a great guy," she added, "and I wouldn't mind kissing you as — as _me_ , but that's not how things are, is it? Mel's the one you're in love with."

"She always has been," agreed Stephen, with soulful eyes just this side of tears that teenage girls the world over were going to eat up with a spoon.

"Then that settles it!" said Olivia. "We have to go find her, right away, so you can tell her how you really feel!"

"But where is she?" asked Stephen. "Who's she pretending to be? Who are _you_ , anyway?"

"Well, um." Olivia fidgeted. "Princess Gabriella Bianchi?"

 

~*~

 

After some absurd number of takes for the awkward-kiss sequence, Olivia and Stephen went out to lunch: itself a major production, requiring their hairstyles to be touched up and their outfits to be assembled from the complimentary samples provided by high-end designers. No point in being photo-bait if you didn't look good.

Stephen spotted, and waved to, a couple of paparazzi along the way. Olivia stayed safely behind her sunglasses and didn't acknowledge any of them, even the ones Stephen didn't see.

At least the meal itself was inside (even in the middle of the day, it was too chilly to eat outdoors), and their security people had the courtesy to let them have their own table. While waiting for their fish and gnocchi, respectively, to arrive, Olivia got a pile of fresh mozzarella, layered with tomato slices, basil, and olive oil. She snapped a photo.

"How come you keep doing that?" asked Stephen, nibbling on a slice of plain bruschetta.

"Kristen and Wyatt like it when I send photos of neat random things," explained Olivia. Mostly Kristen, to be honest. "And my sister's really into food. So I show them what I'm eating, if it looks interesting."

"What's interesting about that? Now, if it looked like _this_...." Before Olivia could protest, Stephen was poking around on her plate with his fork, rearranging things. "...that would be neat."

He'd made a smiley face. Cherry-tomato eyeballs and a curved green line of basil, on a mozzarella canvas.

"That's really stupid," said Olivia.

"Scoot over," ordered Stephen, pulling out his own phone. "I need to show Jon the creative heights I'm achieving, here."

 

~*~

 

Almost every scene required one if not both of Olivia's characters. The first time she got any downtime was during a short exchange between "Justin" and his comic-relief sidekick.

The sidekick in question was played by a kid named Steve Carell; Olivia hadn't worked with him before, but he seemed funny enough. At least, to her. Steve and Stephen got a break during the next Olivia-only scene, and the minute lunch came around Stephen attached himself to her side as quickly as possible. "Steve is an idiot and a horrible person and we're not speaking to each other," he announced. "And if you have any loyalty to me as a friend, you won't speak to him either."

"Uh-huh," said Olivia. "You know I have a couple of scenes with him, right?" In fact, part of the ending sequence involved Princess Olivia and Goofy Sidekick running into each other and being cute, in a way that implied they, too, were destined to hook up at some point in the future. It felt kind of tacked-on to Olivia, but hey, she wasn't a writer.

"I will make an exception for the sake of artistic integrity," allowed Stephen. "But that's all!"

 

~*~

 

Stephen swallowed his Vaxasopor with a glass of water, gave himself one last once-over in the mirror (still adorable), and wandered out into his room to find Ned waiting at the table. "There you are, buddy! I was starting to worry you'd fallen in."

"When did you get here?" asked Stephen uncertainly.

"A couple of minutes ago, don't worry. Sit down." He waved Stephen over, to take a seat on the edge of the bed facing him. "Did I see you having some trouble with one of your co-stars earlier?"

"He started it," huffed Stephen. "Ned? Can we do this tomorrow? I didn't know you were waiting, so I took my pill, and I need to go to sleep now."

"Of course, of course." Ned nodded at the pillows. "Lie down. I'll tuck you in."

What did he think Stephen was, some kind of kid? But you didn't argue with Ned at the best of times, and if Stephen stayed up and tried he would be getting loopy in a couple of minutes. So he curled up under the covers and let Ned smooth the blankets over him.

It was...strange. Stephen had had at least an inch on his agent for a while now, but from this perspective it was like Ned was the taller one again. He'd always been broader than Stephen — like Papa, but with hair more black than brown, and a natural tan. (Stephen's family was not known for tanning. At best, they went from ivory to taupe.)

And now he was smoothing down Stephen's hair. Was that strange? It felt pretty normal. Olivia was probably just overreacting.

"You're a talented kid, Stephen," said Ned, caressing the side of his face. "Could have a really bright future ahead of you. I don't want you to screw that up by being hard to work with. Remember what happened to Current?"

"Uh-huh," admitted Stephen. Current had been Disney's ascendant boy band a few years ago, the one whose media niche Shout*For had been assembled to fill. They were handsome, they were talented, they should have held the market until they aged out of it and then split off into a constellation of chart-topping individual pop acts. Instead the band had imploded well before their contracts were up. Outside the company the details were played down, but from within it was an open secret that the lead singer had made himself impossible to manage.

"Don't let yourself turn into the next Keith Olbermann."

"I won't."

Ned's open hand was moving along the slope of his shoulder. "You won't give us any trouble? Won't go causing a scene during any of the jobs I've worked so hard to get you?"

Stephen shook his head. "I'll be —"

A distant-sounding knock cut him off. Ned sighed and patted him on the arm. "I'll take care of it. Get some sleep, buddy."

He switched off the light and left. Stephen caught what sounded like Olivia's voice ( _I was going to hang out with Stephen, is he in there?_ ) and part of Ned's reply ( _just leaving, you shouldn't disturb_ ) before closing his eyes and dropping off in an instant.

 

~*~

 

The next morning, in the everybody-but-Olivia makeup trailer, Stephen was getting his eyebrows plucked when Steve Carell (whose own eyebrows were, frankly, a lost cause) actually came over and sat down next to him. "I have been informed that I was unfairly rude to you yesterday and should apologize," he said stiffly. "So. I'm sorry."

"I accept your apology," said Stephen with magnanimous politeness. "I'm glad you've finally recognized the wisdom of my arguments."

"No, no, I still think you were saying the stupidest things I'd ever heard," Steve assured him. "I'm just sorry I was rude to you over them. Most likely you have some kind of brain damage and can't help it in the first place."

"If by 'brain damage' you mean _logic_ ," said Stephen. "Face it, Steve, you just don't want to admit that Halloween is a terrible holiday and you're a terrible person for liking it."

"Spoken like someone who's bitter he never got any of the good candy!"

Stephen lunged out of his chair. Fortunately for both of their handsome faces, half a dozen makeup techs had been converging on the scene, and were dragging Stephen and Steve away from each other before anything could connect. (Their handsome hairdos, on the other hand, were lost causes.)

 

~*~

 

They only did four takes of the other best-friend conversation scene before the director yelled at them both, lamented that she couldn't work like this, and ordered them off to change so they could shoot a thing that would be mostly "Justin" talking to "Melanie" (still the real Melanie at this stage), with Steve's character in the background and not required to act thrilled about it.

When lunch rolled around, Stephen didn't bother trying to sit with Olivia. He threw himself into the first available seat and put all his focus on his phone.

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
Jon this is outrageous

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
they are forcing me to act as if the most terrible person in the world is my BFF

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
well secondary BFF

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
one of the Olivias is my character's first BFF and that is acceptable

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
but this Steve Carell person is not acceptable

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
this has got to qualify as some kind of child abuse

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
you're the scholar here, you should research this situation

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
although come to think of it if there was a possible way for you to get rid of Tucker you would have already found it

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
so nvm

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
but really Jon this is torture

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
why couldn't they have let Jimmy play his character??

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
not that you would not also be fun to act with! but this is a role for someone who is adorable in a nonthreatening background way. you would probably keep upstaging me with accidental sexiness.

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
although that would make it more realistic in the last scene when Olivia #2 starts making eyes at you

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
and perfect sequel bait!!

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
would it be weird if we both made out with Olivia for movies?

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
Jon?

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
Jon I am starting to think your silence is not rapt attention so much as ignoring me

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
this is not very good aspiring BJFF behavior

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
abandoning me in my time of crisis

 

Olivia interrupted Stephen then with a poke on the shoulder. Under her breath she said, "Hey, do you take anything to help you sleep?"

"Uh-huh. You want some?"

"No, I'm good. Just, uh, don't take any of it tonight, okay?"

"Whatever," agreed Stephen.

"What's got your panties in a bunch?" asked Olivia. "I don't care what's up with you and Steve, it can't be _that_ bad."

"Can so!" said Stephen. "Also, Jon's not even paying attention to me!"

Olivia raised her eyebrows.

 

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
Olivia has reminded me that it is 4am where you are so you are probably just asleep

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
as such you are forgiven

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
for now

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
although if you do not text me back before bedtime you will be On Notice

 

~*~

 

 **Jon S.**  
I have accidental sexiness?

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
protip Jon: it is best not to draw attention to these things yourself

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
people will get the wrong idea re: whether you are also modest and humble

 **Jon S.**  
You're the one who said it! I'm just trying to confirm that you meant it!

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
why would I say something I don't mean Jon let's be logical about this

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
you already know from boybandology that you were the brooding sexy one to balance out me as the wholesome all-American sexy one. and we are selling like hotcakes which means the market has spoken.

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
sexy in a wholesome age-appropriate way obvs.

 **Jon S.**  
I don't know whether to be flattered that you said it, weirded out that you only believe it because of sales figures, or insulted that I don't qualify as "all-American."

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
when it is a choice you should always pick flattered

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
that's what I do

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
anyway g2g Olivia needs me for late-night bonding or something

 **Jon S.**  
what??

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
idk she was very hush-hush about the specifics

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
I will let you know how it goes

 **Jon S.**  
um

 **Jon S.**  
You won't tell me anything without her permission right?

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
sure fine

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
she'll probably want to tell you about it herself anyway

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
bye!

 

~*~

 

"Okay, before either of you start yelling, shut up and listen," said Olivia, when Stephen opened his door and saw Steve standing behind her, both of them dressed for cold. "There's a club that's practically right across the canal. It's Steve's last night in the country, and Stephen is my only actual friend in the country, so we are all sneaking over there together, _capisce?_ "

"But he's —" began Stephen.

"I don't —" put in Steve.

"Don't care!" snapped Olivia. "If you can't deal with each other, then don't talk to each other. Problem solved."

Steve glared at Stephen. Stephen's eyes bored into Steve.

"Okay then!" said Stephen brightly, pasting on a grin as he focused on Olivia and nobody else. "I'll get my coat."


	4. Open All Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia drags Stephen and Steve out for an undercover night on the town. Drinks are had. Action is gotten. Rivalries are set aside. And Stephen inadvertently picks up some essential inspiration (though he scares his friends back home pretty thoroughly in the process).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue in «angle brackets» is in Italian. Credit to politicette for the blockquoted text.

_Sunny LA._

Jon was actually trying to play Kilborn's script straight today. Just his luck he'd be distracted enough to flub his lines at least once a scene.

Tucker tried to lecture him about it when they took a break. The usual scathing retorts didn't even come to mind. Instead Jon just went "uh-huh" a couple of times, then hauled Jimmy off to a corner of the Shout*For dressing room where they could get some privacy.

"Do you think Stephen has a thing for Olivia?" he blurted.

Jimmy blinked. "No," he said, as matter-of-factly as if Jon had asked whether he thought their predecessor Keith Olbermann would win the 2012 elections. "Why?"

"Oh, good," breathed Jon. "I got some, uh, ambiguous texts from him over lunch, and there was a weird vibe, and...yeah, I was probably freaking out over nothing."

"Probably," agreed Jimmy. "Why, would you be upset if they got together?"

"What? No!" stammered Jon. "It would just be weird, you know? Besides...." He tugged at his collar. "Stephen's basically a ten-year-old at heart, right? I can't even picture him knowing what to do if someone _did_ hit on him, let alone, you know, starting something."

"Yeah, that's true." Jimmy bit his lip. "So...he was texting you? Because he hasn't texted me today."

"Most of what he said to me was complaining, so he probably just didn't want to get you down," said Jon quickly. "Check again. Maybe he sent you something before he went to bed."

Jimmy retrieved his phone, while Jon pulled out his own and tapped in the passcode. "Nothing," sighed Jimmy, while Jon's heart sank. "What about you?"

There were two texts on Jon's screen, dated from about an hour after their conversation had ended:

 

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
fa;lse alarm jon 6this ohter steveis not s0 bad atferall

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
did u know tehr are l8ke 20 kindds of vremooth??/

 

"Nothing," he said to Jimmy, shaking his head. "I'll tell him to get in touch when he wakes up, okay?"

 

 **Jon S.**  
GO HOME - SLEEP - BE SAFE

 

~*~

_Still Venice!_

Olivia had no idea what color this couch would be in normal light. As it was, the fabric kept alternating between green and purple, in time with the strobe lights overhead and the zippy techno beat from the dance pit below. (There was another raised platform on the far side with professional, or at least costume-coordinated, dancers, but it was too far off to properly appreciate.)

She had downed two drinks before hitting the floor while waiting for their snacks to arrive. When she got back to their table, there was a plate of some kind of sugar-glazed pretzel-y things waiting, and the boys were still on their first glass each (not counting a few sips from hers for sampling purposes). Also, they were embracing like long-lost brothers and sobbing on each other's shoulders, which, one, was Olivia brilliant or was she brilliant?, and, two, _lightweights_.

"You guys are adorable!" she yelled over the music, before snapping a photo of the sugar-pretzel-rings for Kristen.

"We have so much in common!" wailed Stephen, wiping his eyes with one hand while hanging by his other arm from Steve's shoulders. To Steve he added. "Do you wanna be my Best Mean Friend?"

"I thought Olivia was your Best Mean Friend!" roared Steve. Cripes, that kid could be loud when he wanted.

"Olivia's my best _lady_ friend!" countered Stephen. "There's a difference!"

Olivia's head hurt. "This is great! Will one of you get your best lady friend a glass of water?" She had brought her own cash, but was mostly letting the guys dole it out, because being young, hot, female, and able to wave around stacks of bills was just a few too many targets to paint on her back.

"Sure!" Steve leaned over the back of their couch, voice carrying as he flagged down a waiter...and yelled something in what as far as Olivia could tell was passable Italian.

A minute later there was a big glass of ice water in her hands, and Stephen was gaping at Steve. "Where did you learn such good not-American?"

"Grandparents!" said Steve with a modest shrug, snagging a handful of not-pretzels. "They didn't come to the US until they were grown up. My dad changed his name from Caroselli. Poppi didn't like it, but what was he gonna do?"

Stephen's eyes were going freshly misty. " _My_ dad wanted to change his name but my grandpa didn't want him to!"

"Really? What to what?" asked Olivia. Was there no one in this business who could keep their names straight?

"Col-bert," said Stephen, pronouncing it the normal way, "to _Colbert_."

"So exactly the same word but with a French accent?" said Steve. "That's not a real name change!"

Before they could start fighting again, Olivia shoved the menu in front of them. "Are you guys getting any more drinks or what?"

 

~*~

 

Everything was beautiful and floaty and happy and Stephen loved everyone in this bar.

"C'mon, Stephen, play along," said Olivia, finally shoving him hard enough that he noticed it. "I'll give you an easy one. Th' girl in the red halter top, or the one with th' tattoos."

"They are both beautiful flowersh a' womanhood," declared Stephen. He was actually seeing four women where Olivia pointed, but trusted her judgment that there were only two. "Can I have another of th' blue ones?"

"No more drinks! Some other time, when we have a car to take you home in if you pass out. Also, the girl in the halter top is _obviously_ hotter, so...ooh."

Stephen squinted. Both of the fine young women in red were making out with the pair of stunning tattooed brunettes.

"Guess it doesn't matter what we think a' them after all!" said Steve, way too loudly. Stephen couldn't tell if it was just his headache, or if Steve was actually yelling everything now. "Besides, th' girl with the green hair is cuter than both of them!"

"That's not her hair color, that's the lights," giggled Olivia. "Steeeephen, you gotta have a favorite. Who's the best dancer right up here on the edge? You can pick anyone."

Well, when she put it like _that_ , it was no contest! Obviously it was the one (two?) Stephen had been _trying_ to watch before she interrupted him with all these stupid questions. He aimed one wobbly finger through the token railing, down into the crowd. "Sleevelesh tank top."

"Ooooh," cooed Olivia. "You like a _boy_."

"I do not!" wailed Stephen. "I just happened to notish that he has ver' competent motor skillsh!"

"Suuure," singsonged Olivia. "Steve! Go ask the hot guy to dance with Stephen!"

"Which one?"

This was too much hilarity for Olivia to take. She nearly fell over with giggling.

"Not which hot guy!" shouted Steve. "Which guy is hot! I'm actually straight, I don't know these things!"

Olivia gave him some directions which Stephen did not track, as he was too busy grumbling to himself about how he was very straight, geez, it was in his contract and everything. Then Steve was heading for the dance floor — didn't even bother to go around to the stairs, just swung right through the railing — and actually _talking_ to the guy, the amazingly aesthetically pleasing Italian man in the dark sleeveless top and very tight jeans, which Stephen appreciated from a fashion-conscious point of view only.

Aesthetically Pleasing bent his ear to catch Steve's questions, nodded, then turned and looked Stephen right in the eye.

And smiled.

"Go!" hissed Olivia, practically shoving him out of his seat, while Aesthetically Pleasing beckoned Stephen down with one lean, tanned arm.

Stephen wasn't entirely sure how he got down there without falling over. Seemed like the next thing he knew, he and Aesthetically Pleasing were face-to-face, with Pleasing's hips gyrating to the bass in a way Stephen couldn't have replicated in his wildest dreams. «Is this your first time in Italy?»

"I have no idea what you just said!" panted Stephen, trying at least to sway a little. Up this close he could see that Pleasing was maybe an inch taller than him (that was, what, three kilowatts in metric?), with dark eyes, darker curls that were a lot like Jon's, and a dusting of stubble along his highly photogenic jawline.

«Okay, let's try something simpler!» Pleasing tapped Stephen's chest. «American?»

That was more like it. "Yes!" exclaimed Stephen, nodding so hard it made him dizzy. "American! The greatest bestest country on Earth! Not that Italy isn't very good too."

«I would ask if you have a boyfriend back in America,» Pleasing informed him. «But I'm betting you've never even danced with a boy before. Does that sound right, Princess?»

Stephen caught "America" and _principessa_. "No!" He shook his head while patting himself on the chest. "I'm not the princess!" Now, if he could figure out how to explain that _Olivia_ was the —

Pleasing caught Stephen's waist with one hand and used the other to caress his cheek. " _Principessa._ "

"Mguh," said Stephen, melting against him.

When Pleasing's lips pressed against his, Stephen was pretty sure he started floating.

 

~*~

 

Stephen was pretty sure he had died, and was now being forced to walk the earth as a zombie.

His head felt like it had been hit several times with a very large rock, his tongue was about three sizes too big for his mouth, and he managed to walk into every piece of furniture between his bed and the shower. The fact that he got through it all without throwing up was a miracle. One more night like this and he could be canonized after he died.

Cold water helped. But not much.

He was staggering out of the bathroom when there was a sharp knock and a call of "Room service!" Turned out Olivia had ordered coffee on his behalf. The delivery person didn't bat an eyelash to be greeted by a bleary, drippy Stephen wearing nothing but a towel, and he downed a couple of gulps (it tasted like mud) before giving up on the idea and pulling on some clothes. Time to stumble downstairs for orange juice and some carbs.

Olivia left breakfast right after he arrived, only staying long enough to say, "You got the aspirin?" When Stephen stared blankly at her, she palmed him a bit of wrapped paper and grumbled, "Dude, check your phone."

Turned out Stephen had had instructions waiting all along:

 

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
drink the coffee + lots of h2o + some asprin & u will be right as rain

 

And sure enough, what she'd slipped him was aspirin. Stephen downed it with water and picked at a muffin while checking the other unread text in his queue.

 

 **Jon S.**  
GO HOME - SLEEP - BE SAFE

 

How had Jon known?

...Oh. There were a couple of texts Stephen didn't remember sending.

He had to rush to makeup, but once he was safely in a chair with someone else working diligently on his coiffure, Stephen tapped in a surreptitious reply.

 

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
not to wory jon i am v. safe

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
altho i may just have respawned as a zombie the jury is still out

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
dont let jimmy worry

 

On the bright side, at least Stephen's poorly spelled texts had made no mention of handsome Italian boys, or the kissing thereof. Jon seemed pretty discreet so far, but the fewer people who knew about that embarrassing ( _amazing_ ) little tidbit, the better.

 

~*~

 

The reshoot of the conversation with Steve's character went great. They finally put on a convincing act as friends, all while doing an equally convincing act of people who were not hung over.

Steve and a couple of the other minor characters were swept out of the country later that day, while an adorably tousled Stephen ran into Olivia, now back to Pop Star Olivia in her own place, on the balcony where he and the disguised Princess Olivia had sort-of made out.

"I never wanted to hurt you, Justin!" insisted a heartfelt Pop Star Olivia. "I swear! I...guess I just really wanted to know what it felt like to be a princess."

Stephen was in full soft-voiced, doe-eyed mode. "You were always a princess to me."

They inched (kilowatted?) ever closer....

_Make it good, Col-bert. You're great at this, remember? Just imagine it's Pleasing you're moving in on._

But his memory of Pleasing's face was pretty fuzzy by this point, and Pleasing had been taller anyway —

— so it was Jon's face that flashed into his mind —

— Liplock.

The boom camera pulled out, taking a gentle arc around them, while Stephen closed his eyes and thought of Jon.

 

~*~

 

"Watch how many grapes I can fit in my mouth!"

It was two sleep-deprived teenagers who had stumbled into opposite chairs for dinner that night, running mostly on caffeine and adrenaline. At least they could pass it off for pride: after four takes on the Big Kiss, the director had called it a wrap, saying they weren't going to get any better shots than the ones already in the can.

(She had a hunch Stephen had been thinking of Hot Italian Guy. As for who Olivia had been picturing...not important. As long as it got the job done.)

After a performance like that, nobody had any grounds to mess with them. Not even to complain about the lack of dignity in Stephen stuffing his cheeks full of grapes, while Olivia snickered and guffawed and was bright red and sweating by the time he maxed out.

"Ga'a phh'phrr!" urged Stephen, shoving his phone at her. After a second Olivia translated _get a picture!_ , poked through the options for a second, and snapped one.

"Look," she added, grabbing a circle of soft crusty bread from the complimentary basket as Stephen coughed grapes all over his plate. She poked her fingers one by one through the fluffy center, then curled her hand into a fist. "Brass knuckles!"

Stephen clapped. Olivia pushed her own phone across the table, fitted her other hand with a slice of bread, and was ready to do a Chun-Li fighter pose with both of them by the time Stephen found the photo settings.

It only got more ridiculous from there. Stephen wedged an apple slice between his cheeks and had Olivia film him breaking into a slow, greenish-yellow grin. Olivia put on Stephen's glasses, wielded a couple of forks, and mimed a virtuoso performance of playing chimes on the edges of their cups of water. Apparently Stephen had a fruit thing going on; he peeled a banana and oh-so-slowly slid his mouth over more than half of it. For her own part, Olivia got her hair full of crumbs trying to achieve Princess Leia buns. When their celebratory slices of pie showed up, Stephen used the spoon to solemnly adorn Olivia with a whipped-cream mustache and goatee. She retaliated by crowning him with the now-empty breadbasket as a stylish hat.

"Can I tell you something? Seriously?" giggled Olivia, as she thumbed the last of the whipped cream off her cheeks. (She'd already licked her plate.) "I was really afraid this whole thing was going to suck without Kristen and Wyatt around, and that I was going to be totally miserable by the end of it. And, well, it did suck not having them around. But I am _so_ not miserable."

"Yes, I know, my presence is a source of joy in the cold, cruel world," preened Stephen. "Hang on while I finish sending these to Jon."

Olivia craned her neck to watch his screen, just in time to see the banana photo transmit.

_Huh. Maybe the hot guy from the club wasn't the one Stephen had in mind after all._

 

~*~

 

The camera connected to a feed of Stephen alone, not so much as a body part of Olivia to be seen.

"Cannot do movie day tonight," he said sleepily. (Jon was anxiously scanning him for signs of impaired health, but the uneven light plus the flimsy webcam meant you could be an athlete and still come out zombified.) "Probably gonna pass out in a couple minutes without even my pill. Just wanted to say hi. See your pretty faces."

"Good to see you without uncomfortable-looking amounts of fruit in your mouth, Stephen," said Jimmy. "We really have to watch _The Lion King_ , but I know you've seen it a million times, so we could get it out of the way tonight and work on the rest when you get back."

"Hang on," interrupted Jon. "Are you still on the Vaxasopor? How long have you been taking that?"

"Dunno. Since my doctor told me to," shrugged Stephen. "And no, you're not allowed to skip _The Lion King_! Get Jon up to speed on his Merrie Melodies if you need something to put on."

"I actually have an English paper to write," admitted Jon. "So I would just as soon work on that."

Stephen frowned. "Aren't all your papers in English?"

"No, I mean...." Jon sighed. Not worth it. "It's this critical analysis of _Hamlet_. Does it make sense when I say it that way?"

"See?" exclaimed Jimmy. "I told you!"

Jon blinked. "What did I say?"

"Oh, fine," huffed Stephen. "You can watch _The Lion King_. But we're watching it again after we finish the rest of the list."

"Deal," said Jimmy.

"Will somebody tell me what's going on?" pleaded Jon.

It was Stephen who answered. " _The Lion King_ is _Hamlet_ if they all had fur. The deceptive and murderous uncle, the young prince struggling with his sense of responsibility to family and country versus his own tragic flaw of indecision, the poetic justice in the way the villains' methods of betrayal ultimately come full circle. Granted, the heroes are way better at cooperating in the Disney version, which is what leads it to ultimately come out as a romance — in the classical sense — rather than a tragedy. That's something you could analyze, though, right? Also Claudius is the one who mopes to a skull, and there's one scene where Rosencrantz hula dances, but you can't get distracted by the little details."

Jon stared.

Stephen's smirk was no less smug for being washed-out and in low-res. "Just because I never finished the eighth grade doesn't mean I'm _dumb_."

 

~*~

 

When Olivia got to her trailer in the morning, her manager, the apparently-disorganized executive savant MacKenzie McHale, shooed the wardrobe and makeup crew out. "Yes, thank you, won't be a minute, I need a short meeting with my client."

"Am I in trouble?" asked Olivia.

"Of course you're not in trouble!" said Mac, then pressed her lips together and made another futile attempt to re-bun all her flyaway hair. "I shouldn't say that. You are not in any trouble that cannot be managed." She broke into a wide smile. It faltered. "Probably."

Before Olivia could start cataloging all the potential trouble she was in by level of severity and nature of excuse, they were joined by Stephen, escorted by Ned...whose arm was around Stephen's waist, in a totally gratuitous way. Olivia stood by her earlier judgment. Ned was way creepy.

The two actors were planted on one side of a table, Ned and Mac took up seats on the other, and from somewhere Mac whipped out a perfectly crisp sheet of paper. (This was the same woman who only managed to do up her shirt buttons in the right holes about 75% of the time. See? Savant.) "I'd like you to read this, please, and tell me what you think."

She slid it across the table, revealing a printout of a blog entry with the banner of an iconic gossip site across the top, and a block of highlighted text in the middle:

> _Tween girls take notice! This on-screen power couple may not be a squeaky-clean as they appear. The duo spent an evening drinking and dancing in the exotic city in which their latest project makes its home. But while she seemed content to sit back and watch, he was spotted locking lips — and hips — with one of the local boys._

"I think it's fantastic," said Olivia. "Great to see the Mouse finally taking up the banner of tolerance. Granted, it might be a stretch for Stephen, but I think he can handle it."

Ned stared. "What are you talking about?"

Olivia frowned. "Is this not the pitch for our next movie?"

Mac facepalmed. With both hands.

"Young lady, it is not cheap to be here in the first place, and definitely not cheap enough for us to sit around while you play games," said Ned, before turning on Stephen. "Is this a genuine sighting of the two of you?"

"Nope," said Stephen.

"Definitely not," said Olivia.

"I mean, it can't be," added Stephen, confidently. "Because Steve was with us, and this doesn't even mention him."

Now the managers were both staring.

"With us in a _hotel room_ ," added Olivia, with as much derision as she could manage while making up BS on the fly. "We spent the evening watching a movie. Long-distance syncing with Stephen's co-stars. You can call Jon Stewart and Jimmy Fallon if you want collaboration."

"Oh," said Mac, deflating, before Ned could voice his clear disbelief. Then she frowned. "Wait. This doesn't mention a date. How would you know it was from the evening you watched the movie?"

"Well," began Olivia, and promptly blanked.

"Could it have been the evening before all three of you made call time with bloodshot eyes and pounding headaches?" suggested Ned.

"There's a very good explanation for that!" protested Stephen.

"Uh-huh."

"No, no, I'm sure I can think of one," insisted Stephen. "Give me a minute."

Olivia groaned. Yeah, they were sunk.

Ned covered Stephen's hand with one of his own, making Stephen visibly tense and Olivia wish for something to throw at him. "Stephen. Buddy. Remember the talk we had about you making trouble?"

"This will not be trouble," said Mac firmly. "We won't let it. We have plans for this sort of thing! First up: distraction. The press is going to get some lovely photos of the two of you having lunch this afternoon, in a very sober and not overly sexual —"

"Mac," interrupted Ned, still touching Stephen. "We talked about this. This is a Plan D situation."

On someone who wasn't a grown woman, Mac's expression would have been called a pout. "Must we?"

Ned nodded.

"Oh, I suppose we must." Mac turned back to the two of them, and went back to that kind of smile that was not encouraging at all. "Congratulations!"

"Oh my god what are you doing to us," said Olivia.

"Absolutely nothing," said Mac brightly. "In about a month, in response to public speculation and with absolutely no prodding from your management, the two of you are going to admit that you've been dating."


	5. My Father's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The band has an interview on [Demetri Martin's show](http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/thu-march-22-2007/viacom-vs--youtube); Stephen and Olivia try to make time with their friends in spite of the exhausting schedule of shooting the movie while keeping up their own TV lead roles; and a viewing of _Aladdin_ leads Stephen down a path of uncomfortable realizations.

_Home in LA, and back to work._

Whenever Jon made an appearance this particular studio, he felt like he had stumbled into an alternate universe...one in which he was freakishly tall. (It wasn't a feeling he minded.)

 _Professional Important News with Demetri Martin_ alternated between actual current events (as rendered through a safe-for-eight-year-olds filter) and shameless promotion of whatever the company was doing next. The average age of the live audience was about ten; Demetri himself must have been thirteen by now, but with the right hairstyle he could pass for eleven, and he was still a natural fit behind the show's scaled-down model of an anchor desk.

"Next up on _Professional Important News_ ," announced Demetri to the audience, while Jon and company waited out of sight stage left, "our Special Guest!"

A cheerful handwritten title card, complete with illustrations, appeared on the screens. One gimmick of the show was that Demetri drew all the graphics himself, which Jon hadn't believed until he actually got a look at them: line drawings and stick figures, genuine and charming in their simplicity.

"You've seen their albums, you've heard them on the radio, maybe you've even gotten lucky enough to hear them live in concert — and one of them is about to have his first leading role on the big screen. Please give a big welcome to Shout*For!" The boys stood poised as the applause started, ready to enter one by one as Demetri rattled them off: "Jon, Tucker, Jimmy, and...Stephen!"

The first three of them jogged across the stage, waving and smiling to the crowd. Stephen, though, couldn't resist the chance to ham it up: he broke from the script and did a run straight past the front row of the audience, hand held out for high-fives. There were screams. Jon was surprised none of the twelve-year-old girls fainted.

There was one couch for the entire band — Stephen got the spot nearest to Demetri, and Jon found himself stuck at the far end, after Tucker — and a series of rehearsed questions to answer. Jimmy and Stephen were effortless with the pseudo-improvised banter. Tucker was stiffer, but at least he managed to hit all his cues. Jon kept stumbling on them. And even if he was sure nobody in this audience knew the difference, he wasn't looking forward to the grief Tucker would undoubtedly give him over it for the rest of the week.

At last they switched gears to take (screened, but not scripted) questions from the audience. Glad as he was for the break, Jon found himself getting antsy when three out of four were addressed only to Stephen. Seriously, didn't anybody want to know _Jon's_ favorite pizza topping?

Demetri had touched on "what's it like working with Lisa Munn?" during the interview, but the audience hadn't gotten nearly enough. The most pointed question came from a girl who actually looked sort of like Olivia, except way too visibly Asian to pull off having white TV parents: "Do you and Lisa ever spend time...together? I mean, when you're not on the set?"

"Oh, yeah, we hang out all the time!" said Stephen, perfectly innocent. "Like I said, we're really good friends by this point. Sometimes we'll grab lunch, or go to the beach, or watch movies...basically all the stuff I've done with Jimmy since forever."

Jimmy hastily turned a laugh into a cough.

The subject was changed by a blonde with a high ponytail and a Shout*For T-shirt, who actually looked about their age. "I just want to know from all of you...who are your musical heroes?"

There was an easy one. "Springsteen," said Jon immediately.

When he realized Jon wasn't going to name anybody else, Tucker picked up the thread. "I think I was most inspired by my parents," he said, which could have been sweet if he weren't so palpably pleased with how profound and wholesome he was being. "We were always a musical family: both of them sang, and of course my dad played several instruments. It was a wonderful, inspiring atmosphere to be raised in — I feel sorry for everyone who didn't get to grow up with such great influences."

(One of these days he was going to slip up and make a snide remark like that in Jon's presence when they weren't in public, and Jon was going to punch his lights out.)

"I really like the Roots," offered Jimmy. "And Elton John...and, um, Taylor Hicks."

Stephen barely let him finish before jumping in. "The Singing Senators, and Dolly Parton, and Alan Menken. Oh, and Lady Gaga! And Stephen Sondheim...and Mad Tea Party! And—"

Of course Mad Tea Party was on Stephen's list. It had been one of the Mouse's early flagship boy bands, the one that hit it big in a way that even its successor Current hadn't managed to outdo. Shout*For was their latest spiritual heir, and Jon had seen the press release when he and the band had crushed Mad Tea Party's first-album sales record, but otherwise he'd barely been aware of their existence until he was introduced via the posters on Stephen's wall: Bill, Sean, Glenn, Shep, and Gerry. Their music was even more canned than Shout*For's, they all had kind of stupid faces, and Jon didn't understand what Stephen saw in them.

"So, lots of people, huh?" said Demetri, neutralizing Stephen's excitement with his omnipresent mellow. "Very cool. Can we take another question?"

And a shy voice said, "I h-have a question for Jon?"

Snapping out of his vintage-boy-band-induced reverie, Jon took in the sight of a kid who couldn't have been more than ten. Neatly matching skirt and sweater, thick dark brown curls pulled into two tight pigtails that fell down to her shoulders, big nervous eyes. "Go ahead," he said gently.

"I just wanted to know what it was like," stammered the girl, "for you, d-doing the Christmas album?"

Jon had been coached on the right answer if this question ever came up. And in that moment, he couldn't remember a word of it.

"That's a good question," he said instead, buying time. Besides, the Right Answer had definitely been another of those things calculated to reassure nice Midwestern moms that he was Not Too Ethnic, and he was 80% sure..."What's your name?"

The girl's whole face went pink. "R-Rebecca."

...100% sure that wasn't the concern being voiced here.

"Well, Rebecca, as you can probably guess...it's not something I would have done on my own," said Jon carefully. He was walking a fine line here, and if it set off a publicity firestorm he would consider the effort a failure, but not as much of a failure as copping out and trying to pass off any BS on this kid who could have been his little sister. "But I don't regret doing it. Because it wasn't anything to do with me, it was about being part of the team — and it's a team with people who are my friends, you know? Which means people who know who I am inside, and respect that. So I'm glad I could support them."

Riveted, Rebecca nodded.

"And hey," added Jon, cracking a smile, "when it comes time to record our big klezmer compilation, I know they'll support me right back."

Clapping both hands over her mouth, Rebecca burst into giggles. There were maybe two other people in the room who got it, but as far as Jon was concerned, that joke killed.

And if Tucker tried to kvetch about it later, Jon wasn't going to give him bupkis.

 

~*~

 

Olivia couldn't figure out when Wyatt had gotten so good at puppets.

"It's no big, really," said the four-foot felt Wyatt sitting on the cushioned bench beside her, as manipulated by the real Wyatt kneeling on the floor just past it. "The guys in the crafts department were cool about showing me around while the series was on hiatus."

"But it's so neat," insisted Olivia. She wished she were feeling sharp enough to appreciate it properly. Instead she was poking random bits of its head and torso. "And so..." She sank down, testing its effectiveness as a pillow. The verdict: as long as you avoided the wires, not bad. "...so soft."

Kristen, in turn, poked her. "Hey, you can't fall asleep at Wyatt's house. Especially not in pseudo-Wyatt's lap! Think of the scandalous and false rumors it could set off! They would totally get in the way of the scandalous and false rumors you're supposed to be trying to encourage."

"Jus' closin' my eyes for a minute," protested Olivia. "Nothin' wrong with that."

There was a rustle of clothing from her other side, where Kristen sat. Kristen was in one of her favorite sundresses: dark fabric with a pattern on the skirt that looked random until you spread out all the pleats, and discovered that it was a giant picture of...a triceratops. It was bizarre. Olivia smiled sleepily. Bizarre was nice.

She felt a prickling on the back of her neck, opened her eyes just to check that nothing weird was going on, and did a double-take: Kristen was kneeling in front of her, right up in her face. Their mouths were, like, inches apart. "Whoa!" she stammered. "What's going on here? I mean, speaking of scandalous rumors...."

Kristen rolled her eyes. "Different kind of scandal, silly," she said, sitting back on her heels. "Or no scandal at all, apparently, since your breath smells clean."

"I'm not drunk-sleepy," huffed Olivia. "I'm _tired_ -sleepy. Worked a couple hours on the other set after you guys went home, remember? Got like fifteen minutes for dinner. Not enough caffeine. Tired."

And she let her eyelids sink closed again.

Half-dozing, she heard Wyatt say, "I could probably get my dad to let her crash here. I don't think he'll mind even if he _does_ assume we're trying to sneak in a hookup."

"Why would he assume you're trying to sneak in a hookup?" asked Kristen sharply.

"Wishful thinking?" guessed Wyatt. "I don't know, it's weird, both my parents keep asking about her and how we're getting along and stuff. I think they just want me to turn into her plus-one so I can start going to cooler parties and they can brag about it."

"Oh. Okay." Kristen shook Olivia's shoulder. "Hey, do you want me to call your mom and tell her you're staying at my place?"

"Yes please," mumbled Olivia.

"Great!" Wyatt leaned the puppet's control rods against the back of the cushioned bench. "Hey, any chance you can stay over too? That way even if it gets out, it'll look more like a normal sleepover and less like the wrong kind of scandal."

"Or it could look like an even wronger scandal," pointed out Kristen. In a stage whisper she added, "I mean the kinky threesome kind!"

"Yeah, maybe," said Wyatt, unconcerned. "If that happens, we'll just have to do it again, but get Olivia to invite all her movie friends over too. See how much it blows the press's mind."

 

~*~

 

Just because Stephen had been working almost nonstop since breakfast, it didn't mean he was about to skip out on movie night. All it took was a can or three of Red Bull, and it was _Aladdin_ time.

This movie was a lot more hilarious than he remembered.

"See, see, didn't I tell you, Jon is totally Aladdin!" he enthused, leaning across Jon to address Jimmy, while Prince Ali was riding his extravagant procession into the heart of Agrabah. (Jon was in the middle today so Stephen didn't have to have anyone on his deaf side. Olivia had promised to join in one of these nights, but tonight was not the one.) "Scruffy kid from the mean streets with a heart of gold who hits the big time, gets swept into an unfamiliar world of wealth and power and fancy clothes, and tries to fit in but sometimes gets crabby because he doesn't know how!"

"It's perfect," said Jon dryly. "All I need now is the monkey."

"Do you want a monkey?" asked Stephen. "You can get a monkey. See, this is what I mean about not understanding wealth! You've been a platinum-level consumer for a year and a half and you still don't realize that it is totally within your power to obtain a monkey." He frowned. "Although you should probably stick to the legal pet breeds. Illegal smuggled exotic monkeys are probably still outside your budget."

Jon sank deeper into his beanbag chair. "I'll keep that in mind."

As projected on the wall, Jasmine was underwhelmed by Aladdin's flashy entourage, and said so in no uncertain terms. "You go, girl," murmured Stephen adoringly.

"So, uh," said Jon, "is Olivia the Jasmine in this analogy? Except for who she hooks up with, obviously."

"No, I want to be Jasmine! She gets to wear a _tiara_ ," insisted Stephen. His beanbag squished against Jon's as he leaned over to gush at Jimmy again. "You can be my Rajah!"

"Does that mean Tucker's lurking in here somewhere?" asked Jon.

Stephen and Jimmy looked at each other and grinned. "Iago," they chorused.

Jon looked back and forth between them. "Hang on, is this another stealth Shakespeare adaptation?"

"No, it's just an allusion for us intelligent viewers — shhh, this is the good part!"

And for a while Stephen was riveted to the dreamlike flight of "A Whole New World," dead silent except for a few very masculine sniffles. He teared up when Jasmine started singing, okay? No shame in being moved by a beautiful lady.

As the tension in the story kicked up, Stephen stopped commenting as much, preoccupied with trying to fit more characters into the real-life lineup. Too bad the Sultan wasn't more like Papa (for the metaphor, anyway; not so much for Jasmine). But Jafar...he was basically managing Jasmine's life, together with her father, right? And he was about as handsy as Stephen's own manager...and, wow, they even had similar beards. That was unnerving. Hopefully it wasn't a sign that Ned was going to try to kill Jon one of these days (along with any monkeys Jon might or might not buy).

Aladdin didn't die, of course. Not the first time, and not the second, although by this point Jafar had gotten ahold of the Genie and was reshaping the sultanate to suit his own desires, starting in the palace....

"Wow," remarked Jon, as they got their first sight of the captive Jasmine. "This is pretty heavy for a kids' movie."

Stephen just hugged his knees to his chest and seethed, feeling a shower of cold prickles every time Jafar so much as looked at the princess the wrong way.

It was too much. He bowed his head against his legs and squeezed his eyes shut as the final skirmish began — Jasmine sexily distracting Jafar during Aladdin's first stealth run for the lamp, Jasmine trying to wrench his favorite weapon out of his hands, Jasmine making her own gambit for the lamp and almost getting it — until finally a burst of magic trapped her in a giant hourglass, where, granted, she was at risk of being buried alive, but at least now he couldn't _touch_ her.

Jon and Jimmy just spent the whole sequence glued to the screen.

Only after the battle was won, the dust settled, all promises kept and the loving couple finally getting their together, did Jon take a long breath and sit back. "Okay, that was a pretty good movie," he said, with genuine admiration. "Stephen, you really...Stephen? Are you okay?"

Stephen was shaking. "Jafar is a _very bad person_ ," he ground out. "Why did they let him get away?"

"Get away?" echoed Jon. "If that's what you call being trapped in a tiny lamp and magically banished to as far from them as possible...."

"Only until the sequel," Jimmy informed him.

"And only because they didn't think it through!" cried Stephen. "They don't even have to use Aladdin's wish on it — Jasmine's _right there!_ She could have the Genie take away his magic...turn him into a penguin and banish him to Antarctica...wish him trapped in the Cave of Wonders, or cursed to eternal sleep, or, come on, they're standing on a balcony, Genie could turn him into a powerless human and then all they have to do is push him off!"

"Oh," said Jon. "I guess you have a point there."

"He does not!" said Jimmy, then chided Stephen. "That's not how Disney deaths work! The heroes don't kill the villains; the villains kill each other, or accidentally blow themselves up, or do something else angry and selfish and mean that backfires and seals their own downfall. You know that!"

"I know," sniffled Stephen grudgingly.

"Hey, c'mon, it's okay." Jon's hand brushed across his back, then settled in and started rubbing soothing circles. "Even if he comes back, he gets his at the end of the sequel. ...Right? This isn't one of the ones where they dragged it out for a threequel, is it?"

"Don't worry!" Jimmy assured him. "They get a new bad guy for the threequel."

"Oh, geez."

Stephen listed in Jon's direction, trying to let himself be comforted. "And a bunch of minor ones for the low-budget TV series," he felt obligated to add. "Which was not as good as the movies for many reasons, but deserves note for the way it expanded on Agrabah's neighboring kingdoms as being North African and East Asian, while the mainstream movie canons have so far only included a single film set in China and none at all starring African people. It's also notable for that one episode where Jasmine is a dominatrix."

"...I was with you until the last part," said Jon.

"Well obviously they don't _say_ she's a dominatrix." Stephen paused for a deep yawn, then gave up and slumped over entirely, using the near side of Jon's beanbag as a pillow. "But she wears all black and is very handy with a whip. Maybe we can put that next on our watching list."

"Mmm."

As the last of the credits rolled, Jimmy said, "If we had another vote right now on what song we're going to cover, I would pick A Whole New World."

"Me too," said Stephen. Even if there was no way they'd let him wear a tiara in the music video.

"Yeah," agreed Jon. "You know what, me three."

 

~*~

 

They pitched the song at the next morning meeting. Tucker was fine with it. An arrangement for four voices, two guitars, and a keyboard must have already been in progress, because they would be getting a look at the sheet music by the end of the week.

After laying out the schedule for the day, Brian added, "One last thing...Jon."

Jon told himself not to freak out. He'd known it was coming; at least soon it would be over with. "Yeah?"

"Congratulations." (Jon did a double-take.) "A certain response of yours on Professional Important News," a name which Brian said with all the gravitas you would use for Meet The Press or PBS NewsHour, "has managed not to make any waves except for a small and positive one within the Jewish blogosphere. A magazine called Moment featured a brief article highlighting you as a positive role model, and another one called Forward sent us an interview request, which you will be happy to learn you've accepted."

"I have?" echoed Jon. "I mean. What?"

"We've carved out an hour tomorrow for you to sit down with one of our PR people and answer the questions." Brian wasn't smiling, exactly, but his lips looked like they were thinking about it, and there was an approving twinkle in his eye. "I've already recommended that they edit your content down as little as possible, since you seem to have that under control."

"Um, wow," said Jon, grinning in spite of himself. They liked him! And Brian in particular was proud of him, which hit him so deep that there was probably something Freudian about it, but hey, you took self-esteem wherever you could get it. "I can't wait."

He got a clipped "Congratulations" from Tucker and a perky "Good job!" from Jimmy. Stephen, meanwhile, beamed at Jon over his cup of Starbucks. "This is awesome. Mayzle tove!"

It was Jon's turn to cover his mouth in a futile attempt to mask the giggle of a ten-year-old girl. "Close enough."

 

~*~

 

After yet another fast-paced day, Stephen had less than an hour to spend at home before being hauled off to the next Prescott Cosmetics launch. A new line of concealer, this time. He was using one of the free advance samples tonight himself, to minimize the dark circles under his eyes.

He dithered in front of his (largest) bathroom mirror for even longer than usual before gathering his courage and making his way down to Papa's study.

The doors were always closed, and Stephen took care to knock and wait for an invitation before letting himself in. There were generous windows along the wall, but even during the day all the dark wood paneling drank in the sunlight. It smelled like cigar smoke with an undertone of old books, giving the place an old-fashioned feeling in spite of the decidedly modern touches: a few sleek filing cabinets, the minifridge next to the desk, the laptop/iPad/iPhone trio that shared space with monogrammed stationary and a set of gold-plated pens.

Papa turned his high-backed leather chair to greet Stephen, iPad still in his hands. "Did you want something, Stephen?"

"I...yes, sir," stammered Stephen. No matter how many people had begged him for autographs lately, his father could always make him feel two feet tall with a single look. "You'd need to sign off on it, but...in the long run, I really think...."

"Spit it out, boy."

"I want a new solo manager!" blurted Stephen. "...Sir."

"Is that so." Papa didn't look moved. "You have a problem with Ned?"

"Sometimes—" Stephen swallowed. "Sometimes when he's touching me it gets to a point where it's — not comfortable."

That at least got a reaction. Papa rested the iPad in his lap and sat back in his chair, appraising Stephen. "Son, I want you to think very hard about what you're saying here," he said gravely. "An accusation like this...it can ruin a man's life."

Okay, fine, but maybe they didn't have to _accuse_ Ned, it would be enough if they just quietly let him go —

"Your manager has done a lot of good work these past few years," continued Papa. "And it's not just you that benefits. Your mother was able to retire because of that money. Your sister Elizabeth is going to college on the profits of your Prescott contract — just one of the opportunities Ned has pulled together for you. The welfare of most of your family is riding on your career staying as strong as it is. Do you really want to put that in jeopardy?"

Somewhere in the middle of the question, the truth hit Stephen like a brick to the head.

_Papa already knew._

He knew, and yet he hadn't said anything, hadn't done anything, and now he was warning Stephen off from saying or doing anything either — which meant it couldn't be a big deal after all, Stephen had to be overreacting, Papa wouldn't be letting it slide like this if it were serious —

"I asked you a question, son."

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir," stuttered Stephen, praying his makeup was resistant to the wearer breaking out in a cold sweat. "No, I don't want to put my family's well-being in jeopardy."

"I didn't think so," said Papa briskly. "Now, the car should be here for you in a few minutes, right? So run along now. You don't want to keep it waiting."


	6. Cover Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia spins some good stories in an interview talking about the movie. Stephen needs his friends to look out for him at an awards show. The guys film some gimmicks for the TV episode setting up their next single. But it's when Olivia and Stephen start "dating" that the paparazzi really descend.
> 
> At least we get pie out of the deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuity note: in this universe, the Radio Disney Music Awards have aired every year since starting in 2002.

**My Dinner With Lisa**  
By the numbers, Lisa Munn may be the most successful teen star in history. Her second movie is coming out this Christmas, her show is the biggest hit in the tween demographic, and her third album, released this week, is fast on track to going platinum. Our correspondent sat down with the princess of pop for an interview that covers her career, her friends, and her penchant for pie.

_By Mo Rocca  
April 11, 2011_

I sat down with Lisa Munn at Gloria & Jane's, a charming little mom-and-pop establishment with a pretty standard lunch menu. The real draw of the place is its specialty pies, often named after celebrity patrons — their custom French Silk variant is called the Olivia, which is Lisa's middle name.

The star herself arrived with her mother Kim, her publicist, and a handful of paparazzi in tow. (The latter were politely refused entry.) After ordering "the usual," Lisa was served a health-conscious Caesar salad, along with a slice of blueberry pie and a scoop of ice cream. Curious, I asked if she ever got tired of blueberry. "No," she explained while digging in, "what I get is always the dessert special of the day. So it's different every time."

Lisa was just as cheerful and forthcoming with the rest of my questions...although I didn't get most of the answers until after she had finished her pie!

 

**Mo Rocca: First of all, thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to talk to me today.**

Lisa Munn: No problem! This is actually a great thing for me, because the filming schedule right now is grueling, and if I'm doing an interview I get to have a way longer lunch.

 

**MR: Well, I'm happy to help. The filming, you say, that would be both the movie and the show?**

LM: Exactly. We're trying to keep putting out episodes of _Star Girl_ while finishing the movie. The only reason there are enough hours in the day is because we're working in a run of Kristen [Schaal, who plays Lisa's best friend Sadie on the show]-centric or Wyatt [Cenac, playing her superhero sidekick J.D.]-centric episodes. Even one for Rob [Riggle, playing love interest Flint].

I'm really glad they're getting the chance to do that, by the way. They're both great actors too, and deserve some more in-depth writing that'll let them stretch their skills.

 

**MR: So tell me about this movie. How much can you give away?**

LM: Here's what I can tell you: it's going to be a different character from the show, and it's going in a totally new acting direction for me. Instead of playing an up-and-coming pop star who secretly turns into a superhero, I play an up-and-coming pop star who secretly switches places with a princess.

 

**MR: [laughs] Sounds exciting! Is the vibe on-set different from what you're used to, or is filming filming no matter what?**

LM: Well, no, the vibe is going to be different because the people are different. Like, on _Star Girl_ when we're not shooting I'm always hanging out with Kristen and Wyatt, right? And on the movie, between takes or whatever, it's mostly Steve [Carell] and Stephen [Colbert] that I'm chatting with. It's the difference between BFFs I've had for years, who got to know me even before the whole career thing took off, and new friends I'm making while we're all in the middle of it.

 

**MR: There's been some buzz about you and Stephen getting close lately. He plays your love interest in the movie, doesn't he?**

LM: Uh-huh. And yeah, we're buddies! [laughs] It's not really about the roles we play, though, it's about how we kind of get each other. All the guys in Shout*For are in the same kind of spotlight I am, and Stephen's the busiest — he's the one who's also trying to balance a show with this movie and whatever other deals or contracts we're working on — so there's an easy broship there. Plus he's a great guy! Really energetic, really funny, just fun to hang out with.

 

**MR: Is it easy for you to make friends like that, or is it more of a special thing?**

LM: Well, I get along with people pretty easily, I think. But real, close friends, that's basically just my family, and Kristen and Wyatt, and a tiny handful of other people. Including Stephen, now.

It's hard because there are always people who act like they care about you, but underneath they really just want something from you, or see you more as this beautiful public image than as an actual human being...or who are actually waiting for you to screw up so they can make a quick buck off it.

 

**MR: People from tabloids and gossip columns, you mean. Like the ones who were passing around those party-girl rumors a couple of months ago.**

LM: Oh boy. You know, the whole thing about those rumors is that they start with a kernel of something that's true — and totally normal — and try to drum it up into a huge scandal. Like, I like to go out and dance with my friends sometimes. What teenager doesn't? But that wouldn't be news — "Front page headline: Lisa Munn, Average Girl!" — so they fill it out with ideas about drinking and drugs and sex and whatever else they think will sell.

It's a problem in the whole news industry, I think, not just these gossip mills. I watch the regular news in my downtime, and they're always jumping on stories with no information or that aren't even true because they're desperate to keep people's attention. Everyone's trying to get ratings above all, not trying to tell the truth.

 

**MR: You watch the news? Like, CNN?**

LM: Totally! It's just so fascinating. The industry, I mean. There's probably an alternate universe where, instead of singing and acting and everything, I went into journalism.

 

**MR: That would certainly be a change! Any interest in switching careers when you're older?**

LM: Are you kidding? I've worked too hard on this singing thing to just throw it all away.

 

**MR: By the way, what's Stephen like to sing with?**

LM: Awesome.

 

~*~

_Nokia Theatre, downtown LA._

"We're so stoked to be here at the Radio Disney Music Awards!" yelled Stephen into the mic, and got a roar from the crowd.

The auditorium wasn't as packed as Jon had expected: either Stephen had been exaggerating when he described the ceremony's importance, or he was just used to seeing everything the company did as larger-than-life. Not that Jon wasn't going to bask in the attention anyway. He gave them his best reserved-and-mysterious smile, while Jimmy blew the audience kisses, Tucker did his super-proper bowing-and-waving routine, and Stephen, well, Stephen was electric.

"Do you guys want us to do a song?" called Stephen. Another round of cheers. Stephen held up his hand and made a gentle lowering gesture; the noise faded away. Jon could hear the backdrop sliding apart behind them, to reveal, conveniently enough, their instruments. His fingers were itching to get around the guitar.

On stage and on the monitors, Stephen's level hand crept upward again.

The cheers returned. Stephen brought them up, soothed them back down, and then bounced his hand in the air, getting the noise level to jump after him like a dolphin leaping after a fish. Jon by this point was covering his mouth with his fist to mask how much he was giggling.

"Let's do a song!" shouted Stephen, and they made a break for their instruments.

It ended up being the most dazzling venue Jon had ever played, and not in a good way. Someone had decided to compensate for the smallish stage and the frankly cheap-looking backdrop by going overboard with the lights. A row of at least a dozen overhead spotlights was leaving corkscrewing trails of yellow-white across Jon's vision, and there was some serious neon action happening behind him, flooding the stage around their feet with a constantly shifting rainbow.

Still, they were doing one of their standards, a song Jon knew backwards and forwards by now. He could've played it blindfolded. Eyes closed half the time against the glare, his hands danced through the chords as he sang: first accompanying Stephen with the melody, then breaking into harmonies, all four voices weaving around and between each other.

Stephen moved like water, like he was some kind of sylph whose feet were only touching the ground as a courtesy rather than an obligation. From the back he was lit up head to toe in pink, blue, green, red — until he broke out past the neon aura and went flying down the steps, taking a spin through one of the aisles. He barely made it back onstage before they reached the final chorus.

Barely even breathless, Stephen introduced the presenters for the first award, then they all made a break for offstage. It was a zoo, but a well-managed zoo, where they were hustled efficiently past the next group up (an all-girl quintet in matching party dresses) to a quiet corner with fresh water bottles and high-protein snacks.

"That was a-MAZ-ing," gushed Stephen, practically vibrating. "We have GOT to win after that!"

"You know the votes are already cast, right?" said Jon. And then, "How much caffeine have you had lately?"

Stephen's grin split his whole face. "A lot!"

They went out onstage once more, to present the award for Best Music Video, and then it was back to sit and wait for their categories. Production people swarmed around them. Jimmy ended up giving Stephen a full-on shoulder massage in an effort to keep him from bouncing off the walls too badly.

"And the nominees for Best Male Singer are..."

Jon was a little miffed that Stephen had been nominated on his own, rather than the four of them being up for Best Group. Still, seeing Stephen's hand wrapped so tightly around his perennial good-luck charm (half of a Best Friends Forever pendant; Jimmy owned the other half) that his knuckles were turning white, Jon really hoped....

The second the name was announced, both Jon and Jimmy had hands clapped over Stephen's mouth, holding him down and muffling what felt like some fire-spitting curses.

"You are very happy for him," hissed Jimmy.

"It was an honor just to be nominated," added Jon sternly.

Tucker just groaned and massaged his temples.

Stephen thrashed and struggled, but it wasn't until he calmed down that they let him out of their grip. "I lost to Barry Manilow?" he said desperately, as if pleading for them to tell him it wasn't true. "I lost to that jerk who couldn't even manage to come in first on _American Idol_? He's not even with Disney! I don't understand how he's still eligible to be nominated!"

"Yes, yes, it's very unfair," said Jimmy, then grimaced. "Look, I've gotta hit the bathroom — do I have to take you with me, or will you be good for Jon while I'm gone?"

Stephen pouted. "I'll be good."

And he was, remarkably quiet, watching the nearest monitor as Olivia accepted the award for Song of the Year.

When Jimmy got back, he added, with muttered finality, "Didn't want a golden idol anyway."

 

~*~

_Post-recovery, back on the lot._

In the real world, the song Shout*For was preparing to cover had already been decided on. In their pseudo-real TV world, it was still an open question...at least until the end of this episode.

They had already shot the main scene, a sequence in which the boys sat around in the "Stephen's rec room" set and pitched songs at each other. When each one launched into his song, the show would cut away to a fantasy sequence, filmed in front of a green screen using costumes reminiscent of the tunes' respective movies. Which was why Stephen was currently wearing a tan shirt hemmed with a blocky geometric pattern, slim brown corduroy pants, and a vest and boots hemmed with matching reddish fake fur.

His "real world" self would be getting up from the couch and taking a couple of steps toward the cameras, so on cue, he tried to match that pace in walking toward the screen before whipping around and flashing a grin. "I'm gonna be a mighty king / so enemies beware!" he burst out, feet tapping along as he preened his coif-of-the-day. "Have you ever seen a king of beasts / with quite such pretty hair? / I'm gonna be the mane event / Like no king was before / I'm brushing up, I'm looking down / I'm working on my roar!"

He twirled, shimmied, hips snapping, hands flashing in artful arcs. Half the choreography was scripted and half he was making up on the spot — the others barely even _had_ choreography — but Stephen had rhythm, he had music, he was all over this and then some. "Let every creature go for broke and sing / Let's hear it in the herd and on the wing / It's gonna be King Stephen's finest fling / Oh, I just can't wait to be king~!"

The moment Craig yelled "cut!", a couple of the crew descended on Stephen to offer him a water bottle and dab the sweat from his face. One more take, and they had this one in the can.

Instead of retreating to the changing room, Stephen chilled offstage with the others (and, coincidentally, the snack table), watching the rest of the cutaways. Jimmy, who on the show was constantly trying to matchmake his bandmates with cute girls, would protest that they needed a more romantic song, so his cutaway was to a dreamy-eyed "Tale as old as time...true as it can be...." He got a soft off-white flannel shirt with golden trim and dark brown accessories: someone must have decided it would be a step too far to base his outfit off of Mrs. Potts, and ordered a Lumière theme instead.

Tucker on-show insisted on a song that was about _having_ a love interest rather than watching someone else's, and for his cutaway got to make dramatic gestures and wear a smart grey outfit that was, if you ignored the bow tie, a few chevrons away from looking military. He was singing a version of "A Girl Worth Fighting For", the lyrics tweaked, as Stephen's had been, to make sense with a single voice. After Tucker's first take, Jimmy whispered that he was going to go ahead and hit the showers.

"Why are we including this song anyway?" muttered Jon to Stephen when it was just them. "Isn't the whole point that the singers are being creepy and sexist and patronizing?"

Stephen shrugged. "I guess. But Current did a cover of 'Poor Unfortunate Souls', and the point there was that the singer was _evil_. This can't be worse."

A few takes later, Tucker was heading off to the showers and Jon was getting his last-minute facial dusting from the makeup techs. On the show Jon's bad-boy aura was underlined with a lot of dangerous-looking silence, and he had spent the whole song-choosing scene sitting back in his chair and being calmly unimpressed. (The real Jon had been smiling during Jimmy's scene and totally enthralled by Stephen's dancing. It was nice that he had better judgment than his fictional counterpart.)

At last show-Jon sat up and shook his head. "You're all wrong," he said, stoic to the core, unsettling his bandmates and, in the real world, the audience. It was a moment of high drama! Will Jon insist on singing something dark, broody, and/or antisocial? Are their tastes just too different to agree on a song to cover? _Can this band be saved?!_

On the side of the set, Stephen licked Dorito dust off his fingers with a smug smile. Everyone would be all worried, but _he_ knew better. Show-Jon was only doing the lead-in to the current cutaway, which involved a beautiful romantic ballad and the tightest purple T-shirt the Disney Channel had ever let a teen actor get away with.

Standing before the green screen, posture deceptively casual, he took a breath.

"I can show you the world," he crooned. "Shining, shimmering, splendid..."

One finger still in his mouth, Stephen shivered. They had all rehearsed their solos separately, so this was his first chance to really hear Jon working this song.

"...tell me, princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?"

And work it Jon did. His voice wrapped around Stephen like a warm, sexy blanket...

"I can open your eyes — take you wonder by wonder...over, sideways, and und—"

...until it went flat. Stephen winced in sympathy.

"Cut!" yelled Craig. "Jon, what was that? Did you rehearse this thing or didn't you?"

"Yes!" Jon looked anxiously between the director and Stephen, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, sorry. I'm good to do this, I swear. I just...."

All of a sudden Craig was looking at Stephen too. "You doing something to distract him?" he demanded.

"It's not that!" said Jon quickly, coming to Stephen's defense. "He's not doing anything. It's just, you know, it is a little distracting when I'm trying to do a serious song and he's sitting over there dressed as a lion." He threw Stephen an awkward grimace. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine!" said Stephen. "I'll go ahead and...go."

Face hot, he stalked off to their dressing room without looking back.

 

~*~

 

When the band was supposed to be having a break period, in practice that often meant Stephen was packing up to be rushed off to the movie set. Today, though, Jon came out of the shower to find Stephen waiting alone in the dressing room.

"Hi," stammered Jon, very relieved he'd gotten into the habit of dressing before he came out. "Are you okay? Where are the guys?"

"They're down with the food." Stephen bit his lip. "Jimmy thinks I should talk to you."

"Is this about earlier? Because I really am sorry. It was me being easily distracted, not your fault."

"What? No, don't be silly, this is _important_ ," said Stephen. "And you have to keep this an absolute secret, okay?"

Jon took a seat beside him on the low couch, toweling off his hair. "Sure, okay. What is it?"

"I..." Stephen swallowed. "Olivia and I are going to start fake dating."

"Oh."

"We like hanging out for real, so it shouldn't be hard!" added Stephen. "It isn't like she's being forced to fake date Tucker. Although Tucker probably wouldn't need to in the first place...."

"So it's a PR thing?" said Jon, trying to make sure he was keeping up. It was hard to know sometimes, with Stephen. "Your publicists or managers or whoever are trying to hype...the movie? Your careers in general?"

"Both/either," agreed Stephen. "And, um. Jon, I. Remember the night I sent you those badly-spelled texts from Venice?"

Jon grimaced. "Hard to forget something that harrowing."

"I don't know what that means, but I'll take it as a yes," said Stephen. "Well, Jon, I don't want to shock you, but...my actions that night might not have been entirely in compliance with my conscience clause. In a way that PR is hoping to minimize."

Ah. Now it all came together. "So you really did kiss a guy."

"He called me _principessa_!" cried Stephen. "How was I supposed to resist?"

"Hey, shh, come on, it's okay!" soothed Jon quickly. "I'm not judging you, all right? I think you should be able to kiss whoever you want, and it's crazy that our contracts get to mess with that."

Stephen sniffled a little. "Really?"

"Really. And if you need any help keeping up the fake-girlfriend cover, just let me know, okay?" Between Jon and Jimmy — who had probably seen this coming, given how he'd taken it for granted that Stephen wouldn't start going out with Olivia for real — they might be able to do things like give Stephen an alibi the next time he was spotted making out with a human of the male persuasion.

"Okay," said Stephen. "Then would you...do you think you could...come with me on our first fake date this weekend?"

 

~*~

 

Olivia was relieved to see she wasn't the only one who had brought backup.

They piled out of the car in a group and ducked camera flashes on the way into Gloria & Jane's. Olivia and Stephen held hands; they were flanked by Kristen and Jon, with Jon slowed down by hauling a stylish bag that turned out, once they had found a table and gotten settled, to hold an algebra textbook and related papers. "Sorry to check out on you here," he said sheepishly, "but I really have to get this done."

"At least you showed up," said Stephen, patting him on the arm. To Olivia he confided, "Jimmy couldn't even make it! Something about having to spend the day with his family."

"One day, we will get him here and he will understand what he missed," said Olivia solemnly. "Now, today's special is...let's see, ooh, double layer key lime with meringue! That's what I'm getting. You should probably all go for different things so we can share. I can especially recommend the peanut-butter-banana cream, the pecan with chocolate, and the strawberry-rhubarb, but really, anything's good."

"Hang on," said Jon, looking up from his menu. "I thought this was dinner. Were we supposed to have already eaten?"

Olivia blinked at him. "Of course not! That would have filled you up too much to take full advantage of the pie selection."

"You can order for me," Kristen offered. She was ignoring the menu in favor of her phone, absorbed in Twitter. Olivia had probably brought her here enough to know the kitchen's repertoire by heart anyway. "As far as dessert goes, I mean. For food I'll have the turkey melt."

Stephen, paging through his own menu, suddenly gave a start. "What are these?" he demanded. "Dutch apple pie? _Swedish_ apple pie?"

"Their Dutch is made with cinnamon," explained Olivia, "and—"

"I don't care what they're made of!" cried Stephen. "It's an outrage. An affront. The only kind of apple pie this establishment should be serving is American! I want to talk to the manager."

"I'll see if I can get one of them to come out later," Olivia assured him. "For now, chill out so we can order."

There was a general silence when the food came. Stephen got a full-size entrée and was busy wolfing it down; Jon picked at his fish fingers with one hand and his phone's calculator app with the other; Kristen kept an eye on the scrolling wall of tweets; and Olivia, well, her key lime had arrived.

"Mmrgh!" exclaimed Kristen suddenly. She covered her mouth, chewed quickly, and swallowed before making the announcement. "We're on Gawker!"

Olivia leaned over her shoulder. "Ooh, let me see."

"Well, _you're_ on Gawker," corrected Kristen after a minute. "You and Stephen...you, Stephen, and Jon...you and Stephen...ooh, you can see my foot in that one...aha! There's one with all of us." Satisfied, she handed it around so they could all get a look at the slideshow.

"Eurgh," said Olivia, making a face. "How come nobody told me this lipstick looked terrible?"

"At least you're graceful," said Jon. "I look like some kind of shambling golem in comparison."

"You do not," Stephen assured him.

"Hey, thanks."

"If anything, with the way you're clinging to this bag, you look like a drug smuggler."

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom and wipe this mouth off," announced Olivia abruptly. She winked at Stephen. "Want me to get any of it on your collar first?"

Stephen recoiled. "Are you insane? This shirt is Ralph Lauren!"

 

~*~

 

Stephen did get to meet one of the managers before they left. Jane listened to a moment or two of speechifying, then flustered him into silence with a kiss on the cheek, and announced that they would love to make an American apple pie just for him. Also, they would love to put his name on it, so he should have his people give them a call.

There were fewer gawkers with cameras when the group came out of the restaurant, to Jon's profound relief. He'd also knocked out a couple of homework problems, tasted some pretty delicious pie, and had friends around to support him through Kristen's real-time reporting as their photos and associated gossip spread across the Internet.

"Well! That was fun," announced Kristen as they piled into the car. She leered at Jon, or tried to; her face was too gosh-darn adorable for it to have the usual effect. "Hey, if you and me started fake dating, we could do fake double dates all the time."

"I'll pass," giggled Jon. "But I appreciate the offer."

"Aww. At least let me have your number? Maybe we can hang out sometimes while these two are busy being famous."

"Sure, why not." Jon rattled off the digits, fumbling in his bag for his own phone. "I'll get yours too. Just a second...."

Stephen pouted. "Doesn't anybody want my number?"

"Already got it," chorused Jon and Olivia.

"I'll take it, though!" exclaimed Kristen, bouncing in her seat.

By the time she had finished entering Stephen as a contact, Jon had turned his bag inside out and moved on to patting his pockets. No luck. And he knew he'd had it at dinner; he'd been using it to do the homework.

"Um, guys?" he said shakily. "I think we may have a problem."


	7. The Price You Pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon screwed up, and PR goes into damage-control mode. Olivia and Stephen aren't having an easy time of it either. At least their fake romance is still on solid ground (and doing well in a certain subset of the Internet which only Kristen is shameless enough to follow).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now available: [promo art from one of the band's first photoshoots](http://sailorptah.deviantart.com/art/Shout-For-The-Boys-in-a-Field-376355838)!

Under the interrogating gazes of half a dozen of Shout*For's PR and management people, Jon felt even smaller than usual.

"I swear, there's nothing on there I'm ashamed of," he said again. "Isn't that enough? And if there's something involving someone else, why should I sell them out to you guys when it might never come out at all?"

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, then adjusted his glasses and stood up. "Fellas, ladies, would you mind if I pulled our client aside for a few minutes?"

There was some grumbling around the table, but the others allowed Brian to usher Jon out of the room.

"I'm really, really sorry," repeated Jon in the quiet safety of the hall.

"Jon. It's okay. I know you are," said Brian, with a reassuring hand on Jon's shoulder. "None of this is about punishing you. You understand that?"

"Uh-huh," allowed Jon.

"These people in here are professionals. You don't have to worry about shocking us — we've already seen and dealt with every kind of embarrassing thing you can think of. Drunk or high rantings. Kinky sex tapes. Photos of stars passed out surrounded by various bodily fluids. Ten years ago a colleague of mine was managing someone who tried to have sex with his horse. Can I safely assume there is nothing on your phone related to horse sex?"

By now Jon was bright red. "Yes. Yes, you can definitely assume that."

"Well, there you go. You're not going to be judged. And neither is anyone else whose embarrassing behavior you may have documented. Not by us, at least. But anything that's in there _will_ get out — this is the voice of long experience talking, Jon, our whole job is to know things like this — and the media will come down as hard as it can."

Jon's fists were clenched, nails digging into his palms. "I know," he said miserably.

"What's done is done. We can't un-lose the phone. What we can do now is protect you, and this other person, from the fallout as much as possible. And we can do that best if we know, as soon as possible, every angle we might be dealing with."

"Okay!" cried Jon. "Okay, I'll talk! But can I — can I just talk to you first? Then you can summarize it for everyone else. And you can leave out anything that it turns out isn't important. So it's just you that knows, and not — not all of them."

"That would be fine," said Brian solemnly. "Whenever you're ready."

Jon swallowed. Okay. Start with the easy stuff. "Um, there's some basic sniping in the texts," he said. "Me talking about Tucker being a dick...and I use the word, too, which is a no-no all on its own...and Stephen was having these fights with Steve Carell for a while that he complained to me about. Stuff like that."

Brian nodded. "Friction between co-workers is usually easy to smooth over. Is there any mention of violent thoughts or plans? Any racial slurs or other loaded terms?"

"No! No, nothing like that."

"Would you say it's approximately on the level at which you and Tucker fight during work when you think nobody's paying attention?"

"...Yes."

"All right. That's very manageable. Go on."

"Everything else that might be a problem involves Stephen," admitted Jon. "Some texts and...and a photo. You could call him in and probably get exact copies off his phone, if you wanted."

"I'd like to hear your description first," said Brian calmly.

"Oh, geez. Um. There's a couple of drunk texts, okay? Not a pattern or anything, it was just one time, but if people look at the dates, they'll be able to match it up with...with that one blind item from Venice." And this after Jon had promised to help _protect_ Stephen from exposure and harrassment. God, he was a terrible friend.

"What's the actual content of the texts?"

"Nothing he wouldn't say sober!" said Jon quickly. "It's not a Mel Gibson rant or anything. He's just suddenly unable to hit the right keys half the time."

"I see. Is there anything to indicate these are, in fact, texts while drinking, and not texts while, say, jet-lagged?"

Jon slumped. "Um, it's been a while. He mentions vermouth in one of them. I don't think he actually said he drank any, though."

"Not much to go on, but it's something," said Brian. "We'll have to take a look at Stephen's copies. Is the photo related?"

"No. It's from a completely different time."

"Another instance with drinking?"

Jon shook his head.

"Drug use?"

"Nope."

"Sexual content?"

"Um," said Jon.

Brian raised his eyebrows. "Nudity?"

Jon was turning red again. "It's not like — overtly sexual or anything, okay? I don't even think he meant it to be suggestive. It's just that, when you're a normal person and you look at it...he and Olivia were at lunch, and they were messing around with the food, right? Doing stupid stuff and taking silly photos. And in one of them he's — well — he's basically deep-throating a banana."

To his surprise, Brian looked thrilled. Or at least, thrilled on the relative Brian facial-expression scale. "That sounds much easier to deal with than I was expecting. If we release some of these other pictures, it will be easier once that one comes out to demonstrate that it's part of a nonsexual series. We'll probably have Stephen tweet a few of them to you."

It was tempting to ask exactly what Brian had been "expecting", but with how vague Jon had been, and Brian's previous experiences re: client sexuality, Jon couldn't blame him for assuming the worst. "I guess I'll need to get a Twitter."

"No, no, you already have a Twitter."

Jon blinked. "I do?"

"All of you do. You make regular posts about fashion, tour dates, and amusing anecdotes from the set of your TV show," said Brian nonchalantly. "Why don't you come back in and sit down while I call Stephen over here."

 

~*~

 

The whole combined gang had gathered in Olivia's back yard, relaxing around the pool: herself, Kristen, Wyatt, Jon, Stephen, and Jimmy. They had even gotten Steve to come by. It made for one convenient venue in which basically everyone Stephen counted as friends could crowd around Kristen's phone and page through the stupid food photos @StephenAtHome had recently tweeted to @Shout4JStew.

"Those seemed so much funnier when I was exhausted and over-caffeinated," grumbled Stephen. He was stretched out on one of Olivia's lounge chairs in a desperate attempt to soak up some tan. No luck so far, but he lived in hope.

"How come you never told me I had a Twitter?" said Jon from the next chair down. He was the only one there who had yet to take off his shirt, in spite of wearing a perfectly modest pair of swimming trunks (all black, with the Batman logo on one leg).

"How come you never told me you didn't know you had a Twitter?" countered Stephen.

"Stephen, that doesn't even make sense."

"Will you two give it a rest?" demanded Olivia. "Geez, if you keep complaining I'm going to dump my scotch on your heads."

"You just finished drinking your scotch," Jon pointed out.

"Yeah, and I can pour myself another specifically for the purpose of dumping it on you."

There was a burst of laughter from the huddle, then Kristen got up to skip over. "Good news!" she bubbled. "Colbewart is now a thing!"

Stephen and Jon looked at each other, then looked back at her. "What's a Colbewart?" asked Stephen.

"You don't want to know," Olivia informed him.

"Do so!"

"Colbewart," said Kristen gleefully, "is when people write sexy stories of sexy sex, which feature Col-bert...and Stewart."

"Oh god," said Jon.

"Um," said Stephen.

"Stephen, I am so sorry," said Jon faintly. "If I hadn't been such a _moron_ and lost that—"

"Guys, chill out!" yelled Olivia. "They don't actually think you're having sex, okay? Well, some of them do, but everyone else thinks those ones are crazy."

"Yeah, sorry," added Kristen, as Jon slumped against the back of his chair with a groan of relief. "Probably should have made that clear."

"Kristen thinks the whole idea — getting written about by Internet people, I mean — is totally hot," said Olivia. "My one rule is that she's never allowed to tell me who I'm being written doing it with."

"I want in on this rule," said Jon.

"Good choice," said Kristen promptly.

Jon tensed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing!" Kristen batted her lashes at him. "Nothing at all."

"It sounded like it meant something," said Stephen.

"Well, it did," said Kristen, slipping in between Olivia and Jon's chairs to get to the table where Olivia had laid out the drinks, "but he just said I wasn't allowed to tell him."

"I take it back!" cried Jon. "Now you're just going to kill me with the suspense if you don't tell me."

"Take heed, young Padawan," said Olivia sternly. "A wise course of action, this is not."

"Don't you Yoda me. I'm like two years older than you."

"Even if you don't tell Jon, I want to know!" exclaimed Stephen. "Also, you have blanket permission to tell me anything. There are sexy stories about me being straight too, right? All the work we're putting into reinforcing my heterosexuality, that should be having some effect."

Olivia sighed. "If you two are going down the rabbit hole, so be it. I'm gonna go swim." So saying, she got up and swished off to join Wyatt, Steve, and Jimmy, who were working on retrieving a set of beach balls and foam noodles.

Kristen plonked herself happily down in Olivia's spot and poured a glass of hard lemonade. In spite of her enthusiasm, though, Stephen noticed that she waited until Olivia was splashing in the far end of the pool before jumping in. "Okay, here's the deal. Yes, Stephen, there are people who write sexy stories about you and Olivia. Some of them have been writing it since back when the news came out that Shout*For was going to be her opening act on the last tour, but now that you are actually fake dating it's really taken off. And, okay, I'm pretty sure all of those ones believe you're really a couple, but in this case it's not exactly their fault, given how you're trying very hard to _make_ them believe you're a couple."

"Sure, sure," agreed Stephen. He was actually sitting up now, fascinated. "That's fair."

"The rest of the time...Jon, unless you're really sure you want to hear this, you should probably go jump in the water now."

"I'm good," said Jon briskly. "Come on, out with it."

"Well, for a long time, the really big popular sexy-sex pairing for Shout*For fans has been Stimmy. Because everyone knows you two have been best friends since forever, and that's adorable."

Stephen felt his face heat up. "I don't understand this naming system," he said crossly, by way of distraction. "If me and Jon make Colbewart, then why don't me and Jimmy make Colon?"

Kristen gave him a withering look. "Because that would sound _dumb_. Duh. May I continue?"

"Sorry, yes. Please go on."

"Thank you." She took a dainty sip of her lemonade. "As I was saying. So we have a bunch of Internet people who really like Shout*For, and also like writing stories about attractive young men having sexy sex. Preferably the couple will be two people who like each other in real life, reminisce about their friendship in interviews or whatever, but it can be anyone — even people who have never met — as long as they're both hot. These Internet people tend to think all four of you are hot, because, let's face it, _rowr_ , am I right? And a bunch of them have already decided they're not going to have Stephen and Jimmy hook up with anyone but each other."

"Oh no," breathed Jon.

"So of all the possible hookups, that leaves...?"

"Oh hell no."

"Seriously?" said Stephen. "People write about — about Jon having sex with — _seriously?_ "

"I think Colbewart may be on the verge of taking off," said Kristen seriously. "But as of right now, the most popular Internet pairing for Jon is Stewson."

"Olivia was right," moaned Jon. "I didn't need to know that. Why didn't I listen to her?"

"At least we know there's no chance of anybody who really knows us getting suspicious about my wholesome straightness on account of these Internet people," offered Stephen. "If you want to look on the bright side."

"There is no bright side!" cried Jon, getting to his feet and grabbing the hem of his T-shirt. "Oh my god, I need to go dunk myself underwater just to feel clean again."

He stripped the grey shirt over his head and tossed it onto the chair, finally baring his adorably fuzzy torso for Stephen to get a brief glimpse before he was across the tile and launching himself into the deep end. Stephen's eyes tracked him as he went.

A flicker of movement next to him: Kristen had hopped over to sit on the edge of Jon's chair. Leaning toward him, she stage-whispered, "Just FYI, you're kinda staring."

"I'm not jealous!" spluttered Stephen. "It doesn't bother me at all that Jon's chest can grow a better beard than I can!"

 

~*~

 

And then the banana picture was out.

Riding in to work in the morning, Olivia discovered that @LisaMunnStarGirl had tweeted an attention-redirecting "Confidential to #StarGirls: @StephenAtHome not alone for 'Playing With Food' photoshoot..." with one of own stupid photos attached. In her opinion it was only the third least embarrassing of the set, but her publicist had deemed it the cutest, so up onto the Internet it went.

Olivia couldn't wait to get to the studio. She'd stashed a mini water bottle of vodka in her dressing room fridge a while back, for emergency use only, and this was definitely a mood emergency.

 

~*~

 

"We're going to handle this exactly as planned," Brian reminded the band in morning meeting. "No comments. Not in interviews, not on social media, not when you're out in public and anyone could be lurking around the corner with a video camera. PR has made a brief statement about how you're shocked at the disrespect for privacy over some kids' innocent fun, and from this point on we ignore the story until it dies."

There were obedient nods all around the table.

"Good news is, we did manage to remote wipe the phone," added Brian. "Tucker, Jimmy, Stephen, right after this meeting you're going to hand over your phones to a tech person, who will double-check that you have all the most up-to-date security. Jon's new phone got the same check before it was given to him."

Jon put his hand reflexively on his pocket to make sure the phone was there. Forget the security apps, what he really needed was a reliable backup procedure. He'd gotten copies of the photos originally sent to him by people he knew, but there were a few he'd taken that were, unless they surfaced on the Internet later, gone forever.

"That too," said Brian, and moved on to the schedule for the day: a mix of show rehearsal and song rehearsal. After getting to the point when Stephen left the building, he turned the floor over to Stephen's personal manager for a summary of things to come.

"The good news," began Ned, "is that this is Stephen's last week of shooting for _The Princess and the Pop Star_. Once that's done, plus a few more days to get the music video in the can, you'll be able to have him back almost full-time."

"I think we'll still need to wait until he catches up on sleep," put in Jimmy.

There were chuckles all around, most of them genuine. Even Tucker's seemed all right. It was only Ned's that, to Jon's ears, sounded forced. "I say 'almost'," he continued, addressing Stephen, "because now you'll be getting back into the swing of some of your independent efforts. There's a Prescott Cosmetics hair gel event this weekend, and you'll be glad to know you have a cameo in a drama on The CW later this month."

Stephen's smile was a little flaky too. Maybe his coffee hadn't kicked in all the way yet. "That's great."

"I didn't realize we were allowed to work off-network," said Tucker. "Is that new?"

"It isn't allowed without approval," clarified Brian. "In this case, it was approved."

"The CW doesn't tape around here, does it?" asked Jon. "Is he going to be gone long?"

Stephen was suddenly tense. "Wait, what? Where is this? Where am I going?"

"It'll only be two overnights," Ned assured them. "But yes, _Wigfield_ tapes in Vancouver."

"I don't want to go!" blurted Stephen.

Everyone stared.

"Stephen, I know you want to have more time with your friends, and believe me, you'll get it," said Brian, stepping in and being way more soothing than the weird fake vibe Ned had going on. "But it's very important that you take a few days and pull this off. Once you've demonstrated your usual professional aplomb for the CW crew, it'll carry your reputation past any rumors going around the industry."

"Well, why can't I go a-plombing in a show that tapes in LA?" protested Stephen. "I could make a crossover appearance on _Star Girl_. Or be a guest correspondent on _Professional Important News_. Or have a cameo on _Glee!_ Why hasn't anyone called Fox and gotten me invited to _Glee_ yet?"

"An in-company show won't have the same effect," said Ned. "We need you to get a good report from people who don't have a major stake in your success. And at the moment Fox, and everybody else, is gun-shy about giving you a chance — which is the whole reason I worked overtime to get this CW gig finalized before this latest revelation of your...questionable behavior."

Stephen was silenced pretty hard by that one.

 

~*~

 

As soon as the meeting was over, Jon stationed himself at Stephen's elbow while they headed for wardrobe. "That wasn't fair," he said loyally. "You weren't doing anything wrong — or even anything against your conscience clause. He shouldn't have come down on you like that."

They passed a trash bin, and Stephen lobbed his empty coffee cup into its depths. "Jon? Remember how you said I could ask for your help with...stuff?"

"Yeah," said Jon, keeping it vague, mindful that Tucker was with them.

"Well, can you help me get out of going to Vancouver?"

"Oh, for crying out loud," said Tucker. "What did Vancouver ever do to you?"

"It's — I don't want...." Stephen swallowed. "That's in _Canada!_ It's — it's not America!"

"Hey, c'mon, it's gonna be okay," said Jimmy, all indulgence and sincerity. (Which was good, because Stephen looked genuinely distressed, but Jon would have had a hard time taking the issue seriously enough to comfort him.) "You had fun in Venice, and that wasn't America either, remember?"

"But that was _Italy_ ," said Stephen earnestly. "Italy has to be okay, otherwise why would God have founded Vatican City right inside it? But Canada, that's — that's nothing but a bunch of syrup-sucking poutine-munching iceholes whose greatest ambition in life is to be America's hat!"

"You ever think," said Tucker, "that maybe the middle of a publicity nightmare is not the best time to be throwing a tantrum?"

"Would you lay off him?" snapped Jon. Even if you thought Stephen's distress was ridiculous, that was no excuse to kick him when he was down. "Listen, Stephen, I don't know if this is a problem I can really help with, okay? But I'll think about it, try to come up with something, and if I do I'll let you know."

 

~*~

 

Olivia made it through rehearsal all right, but the thought of having to pull it all together again for a couple more hours on the movie was...overwhelming. The closer the end of this project got, the longer every minute seemed to take. It didn't help that her own brain was jittery and fast-paced from all the caffeine she'd been downing.

She could call in sick. Bail on an afternoon of work, just this once....

But no, that was a slippery slope and Olivia was not going down it. She was a professional, dammit.

Instead, during the "break" where she got a few token minutes to hang out with Wyatt and Kristen before being whisked off to the other studio, she excused herself from their company and ducked briefly into her dressing room. One more drink. It wouldn't be enough to give her a buzz, just enough to smooth down her nerves so she could be relaxed and cheerful when she arrived on the movie set. Add a couple of breath mints and nobody would even notice.

Kristen and Wyatt might not notice.

It wasn't like Olivia was trying to hide anything from them. If either of them caught on it would be no big deal! But, come on, she didn't have to report to her friends every time she had one tiny little drink, right? Besides, they might get worried, when this wasn't even a regular thing. Once the movie was all shot and her schedule was back to normal she'd probably never do it again.


	8. You Can Look (But You Better Not Touch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panicky teenage sexual identity crises for everyone! Plus, Olivia and Stephen continue to wrestle with boundary issues re: the paparazzi and Stephen's manager. Oh, and our heroes end up in a couple of showtune-based showdowns along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs, in the order they're quoted: [Defying Gravity](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlMBcTGJ4YM), [Another Hundred People](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SlJmcYtG0tk), [Mon Histoire](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RAaM0xupW_U), [The Song of Hope](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dM0H97AmpQU), [I Don't Know How To Love Him](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=89IRGoggjWM), [Jesus Must Die](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HU7htB3cyo4). (There's audio out there of the actual Stephen singing the relevant bits of [Another Hundred People](http://www.comedycentral.com/video-clips/xae95f/night-of-too-many-stars-stephen-colbert-sings-sondheim-with-a-bear) and [Jesus Must Die](http://www.npr.org/2012/10/24/163547250/stephen-colberts-most-meaningful-musical-moments).)

_Partly sunny LA, the weekend after the end of shooting for "The Princess And The Pop Star"._

Stephen, Olivia, and a borrowed dog were in a gorgeous, palm-lined park getting their pictures taken. Not that photographers were allowed inside the park, but they had been instructed to make a couple of passes by the roads.

It was Olivia's turn to pick a tune. "Something has changed within me~" she began.

" _Wicked!_ " interrupted Stephen. "At least _try_ to challenge me, here."

The dog, a mid-size mutt with curly white fur so thick you could barely see its face, bounded up to them, frisbee in mouth. Stephen dropped to his knees in the grass and retrieved the purple plastic disc (why didn't anyone make luxury frisbees? Maybe he should start a brand for it). A swing of his arm, and both it and the dog were zooming off across the bike path.

"Another hundred people just got off of the train / And came up through the ground~ / While another hundred people just got off of the bus—"

" _Company_. Don't you know anything that isn't Sondheim?" teased Olivia, before breaking into something decidedly non-American. "Je suis toute seule encore une fois~ / Sans une ami, sans rien à faire..."

"No fair!" protested Stephen. "You never said we could use other languages!"

Olivia grinned. "Does that mean you're giving up?"

"I didn't say that! Keep going."

"Je suis pas pressée de retrouver / Ma solitude et ma misère," chorused Olivia, while Stephen tried to recognize the words. He'd learned plenty of songs not in English, but phonetically — rendered in IPA — so he didn't have to keep the languages straight or recognize the different scripts or have any idea what they actually meant.

On the other hand, if he blocked it all out and just focused on the tune..." _Les Mis!_ "

"Yeah, yeah." Olivia's purse chimed; she stopped to pull out her phone, and was briefly lost to typing.

The pause gave Stephen time to plan his strategy. Even the return of the dog couldn't distract him. It dropped the frisbee at his feet and whined; Olivia came to its rescue, and once it had torn off again, Stephen began: "Undulávë ilyë~ / Tier lomé..."

Still crouching from frisbee-retrieval duty, Olivia glared suspiciously up at him. "Is that a real language?"

Stephen stuck out his tongue, plopped down beside her with his legs stretching out along the grass, and continued. "Ar caita mornië~ / sindanóriello," he sang. "I falmalinnar imbë met~ / Oialë...."

"I think you're just making syllables up. Sing it again."

Stephen did, from the top, in perfect Sindarin. Oh yeah, he had this round locked.

Olivia, though, had her brow furrowed and her lips pushed out in a way that looked more thoughtful than baffled. "I bet it's some geek language," she said. "And it's too nice to be Klingon...and I know there isn't a _Game of Thrones_ musical yet...so...ooh! There's a _Lord of the Rings_ musical! Is that it?"

Stephen also knew the Sindarin for "go kiss an orc," and said it.

Olivia's next move was _Hairspray_ , Stephen countered with _Aida_ ("Okay, do you know anything that isn't Sondheim, Tolkien, or Elton John?"), Olivia nearly threw him with _Brigadoon_ , and he came back with _The Lion King_ (one of the songs from the stage musical that wasn't in the movie). At that point he wondered if Olivia had stopped trying, because she went with a tune from _Enchanted_ , as if Stephen hadn't had that soundtrack memorized the week it came out.

Their shadows were getting longer: the sun was inching lower in the sky, painting it orange, totally clashing with the shade of the neatly trimmed grass. Stephen took a swig of his Prescott-brand energy drink (he'd been shipped a complimentary case of it, and had been drinking little else for days). The dog trotted up to them again and flopped down on its side next to Olivia, panting in a friendly sort of way.

"Did we ever get the dog's name?" asked Stephen.

Olivia shrugged. "I guess we'll have to look at the press release later and find out." She ruffled the dog's curly head. "So are you forfeiting?"

"No, I'm _thinking_ ," said Stephen testily.

Songs, songs, songs. Songs that _didn't_ advertise exactly what musical they were from in the lyrics. You couldn't start singing "Into the woods, and down the dell~" or "The naming of cats is a difficult matter~" or "We're not gonna pay last year's rent~" and expect your opponent to have any doubt that they came from _Into The Woods_ and _Cats_ and _Hippie Freeloaders That Need To Get A Job_ (as Stephen's father insisted on calling that last one).

Olivia was cooing to the dog. "Who's a good publicity prop? You! You are! Yes you are!"

He could probably throw her off by launching into a song from a really forgettable musical. Like _The Princess and the Frog_ (which had featured fabulous, fabulous clothing but not a memorable song in the bunch). The trouble with that plan was, Stephen couldn't remember any of them either.

"Ooh, such a good boy. Or girl. They didn't tell us that either, did they? No they did not. No!"

This was turning out to be almost as hard as playing against Jimmy. The two of them knew all the same musicals, so they'd been locked in a never-ending stalemate for at least a year.

The phone in Olivia's purse did its little chime noise again. She pulled it out and read the text, snorted in amusement, and was giggling as she typed a reply.

Stephen wondered if it would be easier or harder to play against Jon. He wasn't even sure Jon knew any musicals, besides things like _Avenue Q_ and _Spamalot_. Maybe Jon would get more into them once somebody wrote a musical out of Springsteen songs, the way they had with Billy Joel and ABBA. Maybe Stephen should challenge Jon to a Springsteen-off, instead of a normal musical-off. Except that Jon would _kill_ at a Springsteen-off, and Stephen just wanted him to be a formidable opponent, not to actually win.

Olivia put her phone away and went back to scratching behind the dog's ears.

"I~ don't know how to take this..." trilled Stephen.

"Hm? Speak up!" said Olivia. The dog chose that moment to join in with an off-key howl. "No, not you!" she told it. "Shush now."

"...I don't see why he moves me." Stephen's voice cracked for a second — maybe this hadn't been the best choice, lyric-wise — but they were far enough in that nobody could be recording. Right? "He's a man~," he pressed on, "he's just a man / And I've had so many men before~ / In very many ways / He's just one more...."

"Whoa," said Olivia. "What kind of pornographic musicals have you been listening to?"

Stephen nearly choked. "It's not _pornographic!_ " he spluttered, horrified. "It's _Christian!_ "

Olivia lit up. "Is it _Jesus Christ Superstar_? That's the only Christian musical I've heard of."

"No fair!" cried Stephen. "You tricked me into giving you a hint. That doesn't count!"

Olivia gave him a friendly shove in the arm. "Not my fault you're so gullible," she declared, and started into a few bars of another song.

Stephen sulked, pulled his knees up to his chest...and didn't take in a note.

"Well?" demanded Olivia. "Are you even listening?"

"I wish I was straight," said Stephen quietly.

"That's a dumb wish," said Olivia, without a second of hesitation.

Stephen blinked hard. Not that he was going to cry or anything. He was just re-wetting his contact lenses, that was all. "You think?"

"Well, yeah. You don't want to be going into a musical-theater-off with me with a handicap."

The dog had trotted over and was butting its head against Stephen. He hugged it, petting and kneading its head and neck, getting curly fur all over his eighty-dollar T-shirt. "That's a good point," he allowed. "Sing that one you were just singing again? I didn't catch it the first time."

 

~*~

 

Jon didn't know when it had started. It had snuck up on him, completely unannounced. He was thinking about how to help Stephen with this whole Canada-phobia problem, and then all of a sudden he realized that no, he was just thinking about Stephen.

They were dolled up in matching outfits to do a photoshoot for a magazine ad (promoting either the jeans or the shoes, or maybe both, Jon hadn't figured it out), which involved sitting around on a lot of fake walls in front of a nice neutral backdrop and arranging their legs in dynamic, eye-catching angles. It was sure working with Stephen's. Jon kept staring at him, eyes traveling from the designer running shoes (they all had matching pairs, but palette-swapped; Stephen's had a red stripe along the sides) up the long legs in tightly fitted skinny jeans.

At last the director arranged them in a setup where Jon basically had to stare at the back of Stephen's head the whole time...and it didn't help. Since when could the slope of someone's neck be that mesmerizing? Jon had never in his life fantasized about running his tongue along somebody's shoulder blade — let alone another guy's shoulder blade — and it wasn't like he'd had any shortage of fantasies. But now, in a position where he could have easily stretched out his leg and traced Stephen's spine with his toes, he was —

— he was _not thinking about anything_ , because he was also wearing skinny jeans, and this was Not The Time.

When they got back to the dressing room, Jon forewent his usual faff-around-at-the-sinks ritual and fled straight into the shower. A very cold shower. During which he strenuously avoided thinking about things like "how Stephen looks when sensually sliding his fingers in and out of his mouth, pseudo-Simba costume notwithstanding" and "whether Stephen would like it if I called him _principessa_ " and "that time Stephen said I was sexy" and "why I was so horribly distracted back when I thought Stephen might have a thing for Olivia, anyway."

Especially not when Stephen was right there in the stall next to him, humming.

Jon was doing better by the time they were all out, dressed, and divvying up the fruit-and-cheese platter. Still, after helping himself to a few slices of kiwi, he spent the break hiding behind his English textbook — even after Stephen was gone.

 

~*~

 

Gloria & Jane's wasn't the same without Olivia's boundless pie-enthusiasm. (Piethusiasm?) Even Jimmy and Jon together just couldn't match it. Stephen wouldn't have gone at all, but they had come up with three custom American-apple-pie recipes, and needed him to make the final call on which would be added to their menu under his name. Once he decided, out came a photographer, and Stephen grinned for the camera while holding a fresh slice of the winner.

Then it was up to his friends to do away with the losers.

"So, ah, Stephen," said Jon, picking at the crust end of Choice #2, "I've been thinking. About this whole Canada problem. Is now a good time?"

Stephen swallowed a mouthful of apple and licked a trail of honey off his spoon. "Now is a great time! What do we do?"

Jon shrugged. He still hadn't touched the puff of whipped cream on the side of his plate. Another minute or two and Stephen was going to commandeer it. "I don't know, exactly. You'll have to make another decision first. Unless you used up all your judgment-passing powers for the day on the pie?"

Jimmy giggled. Stephen elbowed him before replying. "Jon, I always have judgment to pass. Lay it on me."

"Right," said Jon, and put down his fork in a final sort of way. (Stephen took that as his cue to scoop up the whipped cream early.) "The way I see it — hey! — oh, fine, you can have it. The way I see it, any strategy you use is going to have to come from one of a couple basic categories."

"Uh-huh."

"First option: you pretend there's something wrong with you. Say, fake that you're sick the day before. Second option: you get something actually wrong with you. Deliberately eat raw chicken or something."

Stephen made a face.

"Yeah, I know. But it'll be harder for anyone to accuse you of faking it if you're actually throwing up or whatever. Uh, of people who know you, I mean." Jon grimaced. "Of the rest of the world, either of those tactics is going to stir up people who think it's a cover-up and you're secretly in rehab. Thus the third option: make it so you can't perform, but it's not your fault. Like if you and me faked a fight, and I gave you a black eye."

"I don't like any of these options," said Stephen, looking morosely down at his whipped cream. The threat of Ned maybe-possibly using their time alone together to expand on the creepy Jafar-type touching didn't sound so bad next to the threat of Jon most-definitely punching him in the face.

"I figured you wouldn't," said Jon. "Um, the fourth option is to do — or fake, it doesn't make a difference this time — something where you can still perform, but the CW decides to back out of the deal. I'm not saying you should torch a building or anything, but that's the general category."

"Man, this all sounds so logical when you lay it out like that," said Jimmy wistfully.

"Of course it does," said Stephen with confidence. "Jon knows everything about logic. I like option four. So what does the CW not like that isn't burning down buildings?"

"Ooh, I know!" exclaimed Jimmy. In a hushed voice, he added, "We could find out if there are any handsome Italian guys living around here."

Stephen caught his breath and felt the sudden need to take a long drink of water.

"That's not really as big a deal on, uh, grown-up networks," said Jon, lowering his voice too. Stephen was glad the table was a circle, so neither of them was totally on his deaf side. "He'd probably get dropped by the Mouse, and nobody else would even care."

"I dunno," said Jimmy. "I saw some people on the Internet saying that network has a whole thing about covering up some of their stars', um, not-so-straight relationships."

"Yeah, well, that's people on the Internet," sighed Jon. "People on the Internet are insane."

"They're not _that_ insane," said Stephen without thinking.

Jon gaped.

"Not all of them, anyway!" stammered Stephen, thinking quickly. Besides, Jon was probably thinking about "Stewson", and yeah, that was nuts. "Some of them vote for Shout*For in Your Favorite Teen Band polls, so you know those ones are cool. They get it. They're it-getters."

"Right, sure," said Jon, pulling himself together. "Anyway, before you guys keep planning, there was one more option...."

 _Good job, Col-bert,_ Stephen told himself. He had successfully avoided having to let Jimmy know that "Stimmy" existed, while also avoiding spilling to Jon that if Jimmy were a little less straight...if he'd had a different reaction back when a thirteen-year-old Stephen (just a kid, really, so different from now, when at almost sixteen he was practically an adult) had asked to kiss him....

"Stephen?" said Jimmy, waving a hand in his face. "Jon says there's another option."

Stephen snapped back to the present. "What? Yes! I am listening very closely. Say it again?"

"The fifth option," said Jon, "is to be a total diva and make the whole thing somebody else's problem. Tell Ned that you won't go, that even if someone picks you up and carries you the whole way to the Vancouver set you won't say your lines, and that he can either come up with a graceful way to get you out of it or he'll just have to put up with the embarrassment."

A shiver went through Stephen at the thought. Not at what Ned might do if he tried it, either. Ned would just lean in real close and stroke his leg and say, gentle as you please, _Now, buddy, you don't want to do that. What will your father think?_ That would be the scary part: what Papa would say.

Jimmy voiced part of Stephen's thoughts. "That's not going to work," he explained to Jon. "Ned's too...slippery to be pushed around like that. He'd either talk Stephen out of doing it, or he'd sit back and call Stephen's bluff."

"Brian, then?" said Jon. "He's the least slippery person I've ever met. Out of Hollywood people, anyway."

"I dunno," mumbled Stephen. Brian had been a lot of help when Jon had needed it, but that hadn't involved going up against Ned. "Can I think about it?"

Jon shrugged. "I don't see why not. At least, for the next ten days or so. After that you'll either have to pick something, or suck it up and get ready to face the moose."

 

~*~

 

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Sucks not 2 b shooting w/ u anymore.

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Pool party 2nite?

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
you are a lovely person Olivia

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
but I have spent 3 nights this week w/you

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
incl. movie night which is a travesty and proves our PR people are soulless vultures

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
but that was fake romance time!! it doesnt count!

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
this would be real friendship time

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Jimmy & Jon are also invited ofc

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
you are a gentlewoman and a scholar but I am afraid I must decline

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
well not really a scholar I guess

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
but the point still stands

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
hey I am doing school! on a decelerated rate but thats still more than u sir

 

Stephen didn't even answer that one. Olivia dropped the phone onto her unicorn duvet, fell backwards onto the bed, and pulled a pillow over her face to smother the groan.

"You have to remember not to do that while your nails are drying," chided the muffled version of Kristen from the non-pillow-covered rest of Olivia's room. She was going to apply the polish to Olivia's just as soon as the cartoon faces on her own were set.

Olivia threw the pillow off to one side and rolled over to face her friend. Kristen was spinning in one of the room's several wheeled chairs, waving her hands through the air. The fiber optic lamp on the bureau next to her swept softly through colors: blue, green, purple. "I know, I know."

"So I guess your famous friends aren't going to come hang out, huh," said Kristen.

A soft breeze clinked the chimes over a couple of Olivia's windows. Outside, two gulls got into a squawking fight. "What do you mean, 'famous' friends? You're famous. There are girls all over the country with your face on wall decals. Probably a few boys, too."

"Oh, definitely boys," purred Kristen, momentarily distracted by the opportunity to work in some innuendo. "I mean, who wouldn't want to plaster their door with stickers featuring...." She passed her hands down her body, tracing a thoroughly inaccurate hourglass shape. "...all this?"

"No kidding." Olivia swung herself up and off the bed, getting ahold of the back of Kristen's chair. Hands still unavailable, Kristen squeaked and tried to keep control over her direction with her feet, but Olivia successfully twirled the seat until it was facing the big mirror over the bureau. She leaned over Kristen's shoulder and did her best high-fashion haughty appraisal of their reflections. "And now, for Versace, coming down the Paris runway...."

Kristen tossed back her curls, catching Olivia in the face. "...and with a face that does not move, because I may secretly be a robot, you'll never know...."

"...the new queen of the catwalk!" Olivia snaked her hands under Kristen's arms and got two handfuls of her sundress. It had a belt around the waist, but mostly for decoration; the satiny red fabric was pretty loose. Until Olivia pulled it taut, anyway. "And her cleavage!"

Kristen squealed, wriggled for a second, then recovered. "Yeah, and this is _without_ any 'little helpers', Miss Padded Bra."

"Uh-huh. You better—" began Olivia automatically, on track to finish with something like _be prepared to back that up!_ She cut herself off just in time, because that was getting a little weird, wasn't it?

When Kristen arched her spine, the muscles in her lower back flexed under Olivia's hands. "The cougar is a force of nature that cannot be contained!" she said, punctuating it with a growl and a flash of her nails.

See, there was absolutely no reason for _Olivia_ to fear being the weird one here. She swallowed and tried to pull herself together.

"Hey," said Kristen, more seriously, "are you okay there?"

"Yeah," breathed Olivia. It came out low and heavy, her breath hot against Kristen's skin. "Are you, uh. Are you wearing perfume or something?"

"Oh, I totally forgot to tell you!" exclaimed Kristen. "Some company sent the studio a ton of samples, so I grabbed a couple. You were already off doing the movie shooting. The box is probably still in makeup."

"Uh-huh." Olivia let her grip relax. Now her hands were just resting on Kristen's waist. She should really move them. Soon. "It smells...really good."

"...Thanks." Kristen blinked at the mirror, not posing or mugging now, just her unfiltered adorable doll-eyed self. Were her cheeks a little pinker than usual? Or was it just that Olivia's face under the freckles was extra-pale?

Stephen's voice flashed through Olivia's head: _I wish I was straight._

Kristen's lips parted. "You—"

A phone chimed.

Olivia jumped. Kristen only twitched before tipping her head towards Olivia's bed. "You gonna get that?"

"Yes!" said Olivia, unwinding her hands from Kristen's body and trying to pull back without falling over. "Yeah, sorry, just a second."

 

 **Jon S.**  
Hey, Stephen said you wanted to hang out. We're having a belated movie night. Want to join in?

 **Jon S.**  
It involves Jasmine as a dominatrix for some reason, if that helps you decide.

 

"Okay, so we can still totally go ahead and work on my nails," said Olivia, "but in the name of informed consent I should tell you that we have also been invited to chill with the guys and a dominatrix Jasmine. Which either means that one episode of the _Aladdin_ animated series, or Stephen's not-so-secret thing about wanting to be a Disney princess just took a completely unexpected turn."

"Well," said Kristen, in a tone of greatest solemnity, "I don't think I can in good conscience miss either of those."

 

~*~

 

When Jon had sent Olivia (and, by proxy, Kristen) the invitation, he had not realized it would mean turning movie night into movie-and-nail-polish night.

He and Jimmy both agreed to submit to the clear stuff; it was supposed to be healthy for your nails anyway. Stephen got his done in ruby-red glitter.

Jon kept telling himself to relax, but every time Stephen's fingers brushed a little too close he flinched all over again, heart racing. He figured he'd get a reprieve when the show came on, and it worked — but not for long. Instead of queuing up a movie-length sequence of episodes, they only watched one before getting into a multi-person musical-off.

Which Jon managed to get himself eliminated from after three turns.

Resigned to his fate, Jon pulled his beanbag chair a little ways back out of the circle and tried to enjoy the show. He heard Stephen's and Jimmy's singing voices all the time, but not usually with so much range or such interesting material; Olivia of course was a world-class talent, and Kristen, while not quite in the same league as the others, could carry a tune just fine.

He also tried to entertain the idea that he was only having all these uncomfortable feelings about Stephen because Stephen was so, well, _girly_ sometimes. Raging teenage hormones were bound to get confused around a slender, smooth-faced guy who liked to be called _princess_ and wear tiaras and have brilliantly-colored nails, right? Especially when their whole professional schtick at this point involved being sexy in kind of an androgynous way, because their target audience was still kind of wigged-out by capital-M Men. Perfectly understandable. No reasons here to get into some kind of unnecessary...and scary...and possibly contract-violating sexual identity crisis....

"No, wait!" exclaimed Stephen in a low voice. For a second Jon thought he was calling a halt on the game. Then he dropped _lower_ , sliding into a bona fide baritone, to rumble, "We need a more permanent solution to our problem...."

Oh dear lord. Jon hadn't known Stephen could _do_ that.

Jimmy was clapping, and Kristen was saying something, probably the name of the musical, and Jon was still shaking. So much for the girliness theory. God _damn_.

He was so screwed.


	9. Worlds Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While trying to get past their new awkwardness, Olivia and Kristen realize they've both been keeping secrets. Jon gets a sharp reminder of just how far he is from his family. And Stephen discovers something about Jon that threatens to turn their friendship upside-down, and not in the good way.

"Are you feeling all right?" asked Jon's aunt, over French toast in the dining room with the big latticed windows. "You look a bit peaky. Are they feeding you enough at that work of yours?"

"Yeah, there's a ton of food," said Jon absently, poking one of the blueberries on his overly elaborate plate. (Unlike his mother, who had insisted on cooking everything herself the last time he went home on vacation, Aunt Ruth had no qualms about having all her meals prepared by a professional. Breakfasts here were always gorgeous. Jon kept expecting to find she'd ordered a chef to render the Mona Lisa in syrup.)

He couldn't talk to Aunt Ruth about Stephen. He wasn't even sure she was cool with guys liking guys in the first place — in the abstract, sure, but her own nephew, maybe not so much. Not to mention that the thought of asking her about anything remotely related to sex was...well, it was worse than asking his mom about it. He'd sooner jump off a bridge.

All his friends were friends with Stephen, which made them less than ideal confidantes. Besides, Jimmy would probably let something slip by accident, and Olivia would delight in using the knowledge to torment him. And the list of authority figures he could trust was pretty thin on the ground....

"By the way, what was in the package?" added Aunt Ruth. "Did you like it?"

Jon frowned. "Package?"

"The one you got yesterday." When Jon was still blank, she prompted, "I put it in your room. Didn't you notice?"

"Must've missed it," said Jon. The night before, at Olivia's suggestion, they'd broken into Stephen's dad's liquor cabinet after the musical-off finally ended (Jimmy won). He'd only had one drink, okay, two, but once you combined that with how late it was when he finally stumbled into his own house and collapsed onto his bed, there could've been an elephant on the bureau and he probably wouldn't have noticed.

"Well, do you want to look at it now?"

"Aren't you going to make me finish eating?" asked Jon, startled. He didn't _like_ being tethered to the table when they ate together, especially as compared to the anything-goes policy the studio had around when and where you ate, but it was disorienting to have the order suddenly lifted. This could be a trap.

"Normally I would," admitted his aunt, "but this one was from Marion."

At the mention of his mother's name, Jon was out of his chair, abandoning the golden-brown toast and all four types of fruit strewn over it. He didn't run, exactly, but he was down the hall and up the spiral staircase fast enough to leave Aunt Ruth behind. Mom would be _crushed_ if she sent him a gift and he didn't respond quickly enough. He'd never hear the end of it.

Sure enough, there was a cardboard box the size of a footstool sitting against the wall right inside Jon's door. Jon scanned the room for something to cut the tape with (he had a lightsaber-shaped letter opener in here somewhere), only to have his aunt cough and say, "Will these help?" She'd brought a pair of scissors.

"Thanks!" said Jon, and dragged the package out so she wouldn't be shut out while he opened it.

The first thing he dug out of the styrofoam peanuts was...socks. Two, three, four pairs. These were followed by a well-wrapped plastic bundle that turned out to be home-baked cookies, which made up for the socks as far as Jon was concerned. He offered Aunt Ruth one, set the rest aside, and pulled out a polished wooden box.

It was hard to lavish Jon with gifts he'd appreciate based on the cost, but his mother had a way with sending him things that were personalized and really thoughtful, and the small, shiny, deep brown box with the letters _JSL_ embossed in gold on the corner of the lid certainly qualified. Jon undid the latch (also a shiny gold) and found the inside lined with a dark, velvety fabric. It would have been a fabulous jewelry box if Jon had been a girl...or the kind of guy who wore jewelry, for that matter. He'd have to figure out something classy to put in it instead.

"Oh, that's nice," said his aunt, now kneeling across from him to watch. "That's a quality piece of work, you can tell."

"It's pretty cool," agreed Jon, now fishing out an unsealed envelope. He'd read that on his own. There was something big and soft towards the bottom, a shirt or something, and...he sifted through the rest of the styrofoam...and that seemed to be it. He unfolded the piece of clothing, which turned out to be a light jacket, made of navy blue fabric that felt like a sweatshirt but with nice pockets and a zip up the front. No fancy brand name, just something practical and sturdy. The sleeves looked awfully skinny. It would go great with his jeans.

"And that's lovely too! You'll look just dashing in that, I can tell. Go on, put it on."

"Yeah, all right." Jon got to his feet, pulling the zipper open. The jacket wouldn't be much use in southern California, but he did tours all over the place, and hey, who knew, maybe he'd be the next one getting filmed in Vancouver. He shrugged it onto one arm.

Or at least, he tried to.

Jon made a face. His hand was stuck in the cuff. He folded up his fingers as narrow as he could make them, and wiggled them through...but now the rest of his arm wasn't going to go any farther down. And the shoulder seam was at least two inches from his actual shoulder.

The sleeves weren't skinny. The whole thing was just too small.

"Well, you're at that age," said Aunt Ruth philosophically. "I'm sure they can exchange it for a larger size, no harm done. Did you get a gift receipt?"

Jon yanked the jacket off, dropped it back in the package with the styrofoam, and gathered up the socks, the cookies, his letter, and his monogrammed box. "Doesn't matter."

"If you email Marion, I'm sure she can fax..." She got to her feet, all sympathy. "Would you rather I tell her, dear?"

"No!" snapped Jon. "Forget it. I can buy a bigger one on my own. It's no big deal."

Avoiding her eyes, he shoved the package with his foot until it was back inside his room, and safely out of the way.

 

~*~

 

"We'll be mixing up the practice schedule today," said Brian at the morning meeting.

He paused to take another cookie. Jon had brought a bunch of them. Apparently his mom had made them, although Stephen wasn't clear on that, because if Stephen's mom ever sent _him_ cookies he would've been thrilled, and Jon just looked grumpy.

"Stephen, we're going to be having you brush up on your guitar," continued Brian. "And Lizz can't be with both of you at once, so you'll have to do your practices back-to-back, instead of doing them all in parallel and then having the same break period. Tucker, Jimmy, you can choose whether to go with Jon's schedule or Stephen's."

"Stephen's," said Tucker promptly. Stephen wasn't surprised. He and Jon would both love the excuse not to have the same break.

Jimmy...didn't answer. This time Stephen was confused, then upset. Jimmy was _Stephen's_ BFF! Why wouldn't he choose Stephen right away?

Then Jimmy said, "Jon, would you mind being on break alone? Or should I hang out with you?"

"Huh?" It was weird how distracted Jon was. Normally he listened intently to anything Brian said. "Um, it's fine either way. I can always do homework or something."

Jimmy turned to Stephen, as if to say, _someone in here has to have a strong opinion, and I trust you to be it._

(He knew Stephen so well.)

"Well, Jon, you're in luck, because I am the kind of person who's generous enough to loan out his BFF to a friend in need," declared Stephen. He clapped Jimmy on the back. "I'm trusting you to take care of my BJF in my absence. Don't let me down."

 

~*~

 

Olivia sat up straight in her chair and kept her best attentive, respectful expression pasted across her features. In theory, she was supposed to be having voice lessons right now. In practice, though, her coach was having one of those days where he spent the whole hour talking about how he was over MacKenzie, how he was happily dating a bottle-blonde bombshell of a production company heiress, and how if MacKenzie found that upsetting, maybe she shouldn't have cheated on him however-the-hell-many years ago it was.

She wondered idly what it would be like to have a voice coach who didn't have this kind of creepy fixation on her manager. Unfortunately, there was some obscure contract snarl that kept Will in his job for at least another year or two. But hey, who cared that the company's all-time biggest singer was getting scattershot voice training? That was what auto-tune was for.

"Oh, look at the time!" she exclaimed, interrupting Will's latest speech about how MacKenzie couldn't have chosen a worse person to sleep with behind his back than some reviewer who had written a scathing piece about one of Will's protégés. "Gotta run. Legally mandated break time just started."

Will looked at his three-hundred-dollar watch. "Huh. So it has," he said. "Boy, that just flew right by, didn't it?"

"I know, it's crazy," said Olivia, already halfway out the door. "See you next time!"

Someone had stocked the break room drinks table with virgin daiquiris. Crime against nature, in Olivia's opinion. She scanned the room for her friends, wanting someone she could safely complain to without being judged.

Wyatt was present but occupied, chilling in a half-circle of chairs with a couple of their fellow _Star Girl_ actors: Rob Riggle and John Oliver, the jock love interest and the quirky British kid, respectively. That was cool with Olivia. He was one of her BFFs, but he was also a guy, and he needed guy-friends-time once in a while.

There was no sign of Kristen.

Olivia perched herself on the arm of Wyatt's chair. She'd just be a minute. "Hey, guys. You know where Kristen went?"

The boys traded a couple of puzzled looks. "Didn't she have a thing today?" asked Rob.

"Yes. Yes, I believe she did," said John. "Definitely. A thing."

Olivia's eyes narrowed. "What kind of thing? And why didn't I know about this?"

"You can't know about everything," said Wyatt reasonably. "Like, what if she was working on a surprise present for you? It would defeat the whole purpose if you knew about it."

"So she's working on a surprise present for me?" asked Olivia skeptically.

Wyatt shrugged. "I dunno. She didn't tell me what it was either."

"Some help you are," said Olivia, trying to make it sound like a joke, though it wasn't, not completely. "If you see her, tell her I'm in my dressing room, okay?"

She stayed around long enough to grab a slice of pizza, a walnut muffin, and a fake strawberry daiquiri (she could perk it up with something from her personal fridge), then went back to her room to stew in private.

 

~*~

 

Lizz Winnstead was a teacher with gruelingly high standards. Stephen struggled through the whole session, even though she was mostly running him through Dolly Parton songs. He could have sung any of them off the top of his head, but picking them out on the guitar after several months of basically not playing was another story.

On the way out of the practice room he slipped Jon a high-five, then, instead of heading for their nice comfortable dressing room or the break room with all the food, made his way toward Brian's office.

He was going to be brave and _suck it up, Col-bert_ and insist that Brian find a way to get him out of going to Canada.

It wasn't an appealing option, but every other option was worse. Plus, they all seemed to lead back to the possibility of knocking his career off the rails, which in turn would lead to Putting His Family In Jeopardy. If Jon couldn't think of a perfect answer, that wasn't promising, but Brian was even smarter than Jon, and was deeper into the background social and commercial forces that moved their careers. He might still be able to pull something off.

All Stephen had to do was convince Brian to want to help, without going so far as to Make Accusations.

He stopped outside Brian's office and took a deep, centering breath, the kind you did before vocal warm-ups...

...and a raised voice on the other side of the door said, "This is nuts!"

Stephen pressed his good ear against the wood.

"...sure you can manage it," Brian was saying. "And it's perfectly reasonable. Jon's popularity has been on a serious climb lately. He has the ability to be as big a star as Stephen, if we can catch that wave and ride it."

 _Almost_ as big a star, Stephen mentally corrected him. If nothing else, Jon was still half a head shorter.

"So we catch it," said the other person. Now Stephen recognized the voice of Craig Kilborn, their director on the TV show. "But in a way that plays to his strengths! Stewart has to be badgered into sticking to his lines as it is. If we start giving him more, that'll only be more opportunities for him to be belligerent, to be sarcastic—"

"Be fair, Craig," interrupted Brian. "He's mellowed out a lot these past few months. You must have noticed."

"He's been on an upswing, I'll grant you," said Craig grudgingly. "How did you manage it?"

"Finally convinced him to start spending time with some of the other boys," Brian told him.

Stephen's heart thudded to a stop.

"He got off to a rocky start," continued Brian. "Nobody's going to deny that. But now that he's got Stephen and Jimmy to be a good influence, he's less lonely, he's better socialized into the area — and you've seen the difference."

Jon had only started being their friend because Brian told him to? Not because of Stephen's winning personality, or Stephen's irresistible charm, or Stephen's dazzling wit, or anything else to do with Stephen (or Jimmy) at all?

"All right, all right," said Craig. "More screen time for Stewart. I'll pass it on to the writers. But if he crashes and burns, we're cutting it back again, so you better make sure you've got his face on enough tote bags before that happens."

And Brian had only told Jon to be their friend in order to make Jon more marketable?

"Leave the tote bags to merchandising," said Brian smoothly. "And leave the boys' moods to me."

Stephen couldn't listen to another word. Eyes burning, he slunk away. He'd been so stupid! To think, he'd been this close to asking Brian's help with something that — no matter how you sliced it — would end up making them _less_ money. (And why? Because Jon had suggested it!)

He was seething by the time he got to the dressing room. Jon had toyed with him. Played him for a fool. Convinced him to _share Jimmy_ , probably laughing behind his back the whole time....

Throwing himself into a chair, Stephen pulled out his phone, fired up his Tumblr app, and prepared to blow off steam by having unicorgirl18 pick some fights. It wasn't hard. There were a whole lot of people on that site whose opinions on _The Lord of the Rings_ were painfully wrong.

Tucker was on the couch, also on his phone. He'd grabbed a plate from somewhere, and was working his way through something doughy and sugar-coated. Stephen paid him very little attention until he said, "Hey, Col-bert."

Stephen paused in the middle of an angry response to some moron who failed to grasp that Legolas and his father were _Sindar_ , not Silvan Elves. "Hm?"

"What's BJF mean?"

"Nothing," said Stephen bitterly.

"It has to mean something, 'cause you said it," countered Tucker. "You said Stewart was your BJF."

"I did," said Stephen. Emphasis on the past tense.

"It isn't 'blow job friend', is it?"

Stephen had not thought about Jon in the context of blowjobs before (although he _had_ noticed that Jon had soft, full lips, because come on, he had _eyes_ ), and obviously now he wasn't going to start. "No!" he snapped. "It _used_ to mean Best Jewish Friend, only _now_ it means something like Biggest Jewish Fraud, because that's what he is!"

"Ah," said Tucker. "I was wondering if you'd ever get sick of him."

Stephen had been wishing he had Jimmy around to commiserate with, but Tucker might not be so bad. "I thought he really liked us. Now it turns out he was just using us this whole time!"

"I don't think he really likes anyone," confessed Tucker. "Except himself, obviously. He thinks because he didn't grow up in the business, that makes him better than us."

"He said that?" breathed Stephen, horrified. It was worse than he'd thought.

"Not in so many words, no," said Tucker. "But he doesn't exactly try to hide it. You've seen how he fights with the system and then gets all self-righteous when well-meaning people try to get him to behave."

"He's been better recently...."

"And you think that means he's showing more respect? He's still as judgmental as ever, just quieter about it. The only person he hasn't written off as not worth his time is Brian, and that's almost worse, the way he jumps to follow Brian's orders like a lovesick puppy."

Stephen felt sick. "You think...Jon and Brian...?"

"No, I don't think they're actually doing it," huffed Tucker. "I'm just saying, if Brian ever tried anything, Jon wouldn't exactly make him stop."

The correct response popped out of Stephen's mouth automatically. "That's disgusting."

"I know, right?" Tucker sighed. "I'm glad you finally quit drinking the Kool-Aid. It was getting weird being the only one who doesn't treat him like some kind of saint."

Stephen was suddenly very tired. He curled into a tight ball in the armchair (which had been a more comfortable fit a year ago, but Stephen Col-bert was nothing if not flexible) and closed his eyes.

 

~*~

 

After a DayDrink or two, Olivia felt way better. She was cool. She was mellow. She could handle anything.

She got through makeup unusually fast, and when she showed up on the set Kristen was waiting. Wardrobe had started putting her in short dresses over jeans, which was way less cute than her actual style, but whatever, they just had no taste and didn't appreciate her hips at all.

Olivia threw herself into the chair at Kristen's side. "Oh my god where have you been," she said, but she was grinning, so Kristen knew she wasn't mad.

"Hi!" breathed Kristen, startled. "Sorry, I didn't realize it was going to take so long...but I think they liked me!"

"What? Who liked you?"

"The people at..." Kristen frowned. "The audition. Like I texted you."

"You so did not text me," laughed Olivia. Kristen was such a kidder sometimes. "I would've seen it."

"Did too!"

"Uh-huh. Okay, humor me. Explain it 'again'." She punctuated the word with air-quotes. "What audition?"

"It's not that big a deal," said Kristen, not that Olivia was buying it, given how totally tense she was. "It's for like a two-minute appearance...it's in the next _Toy Story_ short. Kurt's trying to get me to break into voice acting, and I didn't tell you because I didn't want to jinx it." That would be Kurt Braunohler, who managed Kristen and Wyatt and a bunch of the network's other low-maintenance teen actors. "He thinks I could really take off because of my...unique voice."

"Your voice is super unique," agreed Olivia happily.

"Yeah." Kristen was giving her an odd look now. "Lean over a second?"

Olivia leaned. It was _nice_ when her face was this close to Kristen's face.

Until Kristen's eyes narrowed, and she said, "Your breath is really minty."

"Well, yeah," said Olivia, like, duh. "I had some mints."

"O _liv_ ia!" hissed Kristen. "It's like one in the afternoon! You have _work!_ "

"Girls!" called their director. "Places!"

The two of them filed onto the set, a mocked-up mall food court that doubled as a promotion opportunity (this episode they were all about Oreos), along with a couple of extras. A makeup tech got in one last powdering of Olivia's nose before getting out of the cameras' way.

"I can still act just fine," she whispered to Kristen. "I'm not doing anything that would mess up my career. Relax."

"Scene 4, take 1," called Charlie. "In five, four, three...."

On cue, "Lisa" and "Sadie" launched into hushed conversation over their Oreo milkshakes. Star Girl had just gotten herself a new magic belt (now available in stores in all its glittery glory, a free sheet of Lisa Munn stickers with every purchase!), and Sadie was eager to see what new powers it unleashed. Lisa was more cautious — she'd had a vision about a supervillain who would use fashion for evil, and was afraid this might be their first plot....

"Cut!" yelled Charlie, striding toward them. "What is this? What am I seeing?"

Kristen shot Olivia a wide-eyed, told-you-so look.

"Kristen!" continued their director, now looming over their table. (Across from him, a stagehand ducked in to replace the girls' milkshakes with fresh ones for the next take.) "Sadie is supposed to be _happy_ in this scene. Pick it up a little, will you?"

"Sorry, boss," stammered Kristen, melting a little. "I guess I'm just having a little trouble...getting in touch with my character's motivation?"

"Her motivation is that this new belt has lots of rhinestones, and magic powers, and she finds both of these things very, very exciting. This isn't rocket science, sweetheart."

"How am I doing, Charlie?" asked Olivia, partly to reclaim told-you-so rights, and partly to distract the man from berating Kristen any further.

"You? Not to worry, Madam Butterfly, you're right on target. Keep doing what you're doing," said Charlie, and stepped back. "Let's try this again. Starting positions, everyone!"

Olivia let herself settle back into character, satisfied. She wouldn't hold this over Kristen's head later. She'd wave off the apologies, tell Kristen not to worry about it, and move on to commiserating about how much Charlie sucked sometimes. Normal. Easy.

Not awkward at all.

 

~*~

 

Jon tried to tell himself that there wasn't anything awkward going on.

So Stephen had ignored him in favor of hushed conversations with Jimmy. So what? Stephen was allowed to spend time with his original BFF if he wanted. Jon was just being paranoid. And maybe a little jealous. The fact that Tucker looked even more smug than usual whenever they were between takes was probably a total coincidence.

He'd almost convinced himself by the end of the taping, and on the way back to their dressing room started to say, "Hey, Stephen, I —"

Stephen whirled on him. "You have _nothing_ to say to me, you traitor!"

Jon's jaw dropped.

"You still haven't told me what he did," put in Jimmy crossly.

"He knows what he did!" snapped Stephen, somewhat less intimidating than he could have been, because he was also wriggling out of his designer T-shirt. (Tucker slammed the door behind them.) He waved the fabric at Jon like an extra-bulky Wag of the Finger. "You — you're — you are _On Notice!_ "

And he fled for the showers, with Jimmy, who stripped a bit more slowly, following after.

Jon rounded on Tucker. "The hell did you say to him?"

"Hey, don't look at me," said Tucker, chin tipped up as he undid his bow tie. "He was like that when he got back from guitar practice. Guess you must've finally gotten on his last nerve."

It felt like Jon's heart had been stomped on. With both feet. In army boots.

Tucker rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, this is the guy who won't eat baby carrots or drink anything made with flavor crystals, and pitches a fit about Canada because, I don't know, it's too cold or whatever his problem was. You didn't expect him to put up with you forever."

"Fuck you," spat Jon.

"Grow up!" snapped Tucker.

Jon balled his hands into fists, shaking with the effort of not socking the smug dick across the face. He was still tense and jittery when all the members of Shout*For were safely in four separate shower stalls.

That afternoon, none of them hummed.


	10. Human Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the one where Jon and Stephen make out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Musical accompaniments: [Beethoven's Sixth](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Ludwig_van_Beethoven_-_symphony_no._6_in_f_major_%27pastoral%27,_op._68_-_i._allegro_non_troppo.ogg); [Jimmy's ring tone](http://www.hulu.com/watch/229352), the Stephen version; [Night on Bald Mountain](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Modest_Mussorgsky_-_night_on_bald_mountain.ogg); [Human Touch](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=85cNRQo1m3A).

**< 3 Olivia <3**  
ok srsly what did u do to Stephen??

 **Jon S.**  
IDK! He qon't talk to me!

 **Jon S.**  
help

 **Jon S.**  
please

 **Jon S.**  
makke himexplain

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
idk boo, hes pretty tight lipped about this

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
will keep workin on him tho

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
stay strong <3

 

~*~

 

Jimmy's place wasn't quite as big as Stephen's, but it had a grand piano that wasn't right next to anyone's office, so Papa wouldn't tell Stephen off for picking out funereal tunes on the keys.

He'd had accompaniment for a while, but by now Jimmy had quit trying to harmonize with Stephen's mournful stylings and was listening from the higher-octave end of the piano bench. "So," he said, "you're still getting on that plane Monday, huh?"

"I will text you every day I'm gone," Stephen promised him.

"Thanks," said Jimmy. "And I bet Canada won't be nearly as bad as you think."

Stephen responded by repeating the last few chords he'd played, but even more _doloroso_.

Jimmy tapped out a friendly, encouraging measure from Beethoven's Sixth Symphony (Stephen didn't know _all_ the classical music Jimmy could play by heart, but he had no trouble recognizing the ones from _Fantasia_ ). "Stephen...don't be mad, but...even considering the syrup-sucking and the hockey-loving and all, you're being pretty hard on the Canadians. Is there something else...?"

"No!" cried Stephen. He was _not_ going to scare Jimmy. "I am probably overreacting!" He punctuated it with the lowest C-chord the piano had to offer.

Before Jimmy could say anything else, they were interrupted by the melodious notes of his ring tone: _"Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday~! / Everybody's looking forward to the weekend, weekend!"_

Jimmy hopped off the piano bench and picked up his phone from the table where it sat charging. "It's Jon!" he announced.

"Don't answer it!" yelled Stephen.

"Why not?"

"It's a secret! It's for your own good!"

"You can't just say that!" cried Jimmy. "He's my friend too!" And then, to Stephen's horror, the voice of Rebecca Black was replaced with Jimmy's phone voice: "Jon, hi!"

Stephen slammed his hands down on the keys.

"Yeah, he's here," said Jimmy. "That was him. ...Nope. He won't tell me either. No, of course I'm not!"

"Stop being friendly!" yelled Stephen.

"You are not the boss of me!" snapped Jimmy. "No, not you, I meant Stephen," he added into the phone.

Stephen pounded out the first couple measures of Night on Bald Mountain. Then, since he couldn't go any farther off the top of his head, he played them again.

"Jon wants to know if you're upset because he's gonna be the lead singer in 'A Whole New World'!" called Jimmy.

Stephen whipped around, face twisting in anguish. "He's _what?_ "

"He didn't know," Jimmy reported into the phone.

"Tell him he's a thief!" shouted Stephen.

"Tell him yourself!" countered Jimmy. "I am not on anybody's side," he added to Jon.

Stephen went back to Night on Bald Mountain. _Irato._

"Uh-huh. Sure." Jimmy paused. "Say that again, I didn't...." Pause. "You _what?_ " His voice cracked: "Please hold for a minute."

The next thing Stephen knew, Jimmy was next to him on the bench and had dragged his hands off the keys.

"You trust me, right, Stephen Col-bert?" said Jimmy, looking straight into his eyes. "And you know that if Jon's done something wrong, I will absolutely be on your side?"

"Of course I trust you, Jimmy Fallon!" said Stephen. "Except that you're supposed to be on my side _now_."

Jimmy's nails dug into his wrists. "I can't do that if you won't even tell me what's going on!"

"I'm trying to protect you!"

"Well, stop it! If you don't stop keeping secrets from me, no matter how good you think the reason is, I — I will — I will _suspend our friendship!_ "

Stephen's heart sank to around his knees. "You can't do that!"

"Can't I?" Jimmy let him go, only to rummage under the collar of his own T-shirt and pull out the left half of their Best Friends Forever pendant. As Stephen watched in disbelief, he lifted the loop of it over his head and closed his fist around it. "Watch me!"

This was more than Stephen could take. To have his two best friends ripped away in the span of two days? Either he'd been cursed by a witch, or the universe just had it in for him. He choked on a sobbing breath, chin wobbling, heat building behind his eyes.

"Stephen," said Jimmy softly. "Tell me why you don't want to be friends with Jon any more."

"He was never our friend!" wailed Stephen, throwing himself across Jimmy's shoulders.

Jimmy pulled him into a tight hug. "What are you talking about? He's been our friend for months."

"It wasn't real," sobbed Stephen into his shirt collar. "He was _faking_ it because Brian _told_ him to and he was _using_ us! He would've stopped pretending any day now _any_ way because it _worked_ , now that he's going to be the lead singer and the main character and start getting all the solo projects, which means we're _worthless_ to him, and, and, and...!"

"Okay, here's the thing," said Jimmy, rubbing Stephen's back. "I bet none of that is true."

"Denial will not protect you forever," sniffled Stephen.

"I mean, sure, Brian was kinda leaning on him to hang out with us and Tucker more all through our first tour...."

"See? _See?_ "

"...but back then _you_ thought he was rude and obnoxious, and didn't want to hang out with _him_ either. I had to badger you for weeks before you gave him a chance! And as of last week you weren't faking that you liked him, were you?"

"N-no," admitted Stephen.

"You've been the lead singer on everything so far, and you got the first movie role, as the leading man no less, and all kinds of other deals. Have you been thinking me and Jon were worthless this whole time?"

"No!"

"Did Jon ever _say_ he thought we were worthless?"

"No...."

"Because he doesn't think it!"

"B-but...!"

Jimmy sighed. "Look, you remember in the end of _Bolt_ where he sees Penny hugging the other dog, and he thinks it means Penny doesn't love him any more, but it was all a big misunderstanding because he jumped to conclusions based on that one tiny scene?"

Stephen pulled back, wiping his eyes. "A-am I Bolt?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Jimmy.

"And...Jon really liked me all this time?"

For some reason, this made Jimmy fidgety. "He liked — I mean, he really likes — look, you should talk to him yourself, okay? He's probably panicking now that we've left the call hanging for so long."

Stephen sniffled a little more. "And...and if I do, you'll put your friendship pendant back on, right?"

"I'll do it right now," said Jimmy, already untangling the loop to toss it back over his head.

Swinging himself off the piano bench, Stephen dove for the phone. The call was still connected, seconds ticking away. "Hello?"

"Stephen!" exclaimed Jon's welcome voice on the far end. "What —"

"I'm sorry!" interrupted Stephen. "It's all my fault. I saw you hugging another dog, or I guess a metaphorical dog in the form of money and fame, and I didn't understand but my Mittens set me straight!"

"...what?"

"We'll put it on our watching list!" Stephen assured him. "Where are you?"

"Just at the house...." stammered Jon.

"Stay right there!" ordered Stephen. "I'm coming over. And don't let anything catch on fire before I get there!"

He ended the call out of force of habit, before he remembered that it wasn't his phone and Jimmy had been the one Jon originally wanted to talk to. Oh well. "Can I borrow this to call a car?" he asked, already thumbing to the contacts to search for the company number.

"Is he at home?" asked Jimmy. "Because we're in the same neighborhood, remember? You could bike the distance in five minutes. It would take longer than that just to get a car here."

Stephen dropped the phone. "In that case, can I borrow your bike?"

 

~*~

 

Even the highest-ceilinged, most skylight-topped room in Jon's absurdly large house felt like it was closing in around him. He couldn't get comfortable until he was on one of the second-floor balconies, overlooking the mansion's sunset-lengthened shadow as it stretched across the road.

 

 **Jimmy Fallon!**  
ok S is on his way over!

 **Jon S.**  
Wait

 **Jon S.**  
Is he still mad??

 **Jimmy Fallon!**  
no! it was all a big oops in the first place :)

 **Jimmy Fallon!**  
also fyi I didnt mention the part where you totally want to jump him ;)

 **Jon S.**  
Not what I said!!

 

 _Did_ he want to jump Stephen? God, Jon had never even had an actual girlfriend before, let alone....

One thing was clear: he had to come clean to Stephen about wanting _something_. Better to get flat-out rejected than to go through another day of twisting himself in knots about whether Stephen was, or would be, cool with whatever-the-hell Jon's confused attraction added up to.

His chest felt constricted, to the point where he'd taken a couple hits of his inhaler, though it didn't seem to be helping. Waves of heat followed by sudden chills kept washing under his skin from head to toe. Shout*For had done half a dozen songs about being so in love ("with you, girl") that you were walking on air, and another handful that involved nobly and prettily pining ("if you only knew, girl"), but there was nothing in his repertoire along the lines of "girl, I'm stressing out so hard over possibly-liking you that I might throw up."

 

 **Jimmy Fallon!**  
ok well you can explain the fine details to S in person!

 **Jimmy Fallon!**  
although you realize that if you ever hurt him and its your fault for real I will snap your guitar in half and come after you with the knobby end

 **Jon S.**  
Wtf

 **Jon S.**  
Don't you think that's kind of premature

 **Jimmy Fallon!**  
it is never too early to exercise bff duty :)

 

Jon, who had been in the middle of typing "Wait does that mean he has a certain kind of feelings I could hurt?", hastily deleted the words. Jimmy wasn't hinting anything. Jon was starting from square one.

And since he hadn't heard a car or anything, when the doorbell below went off he nearly had a heart attack.

"S-Stephen?" called Jon, peering down over the carved oak balustrade he'd been leaning against. He couldn't see who was at the door, since there was an angled mini-roof sticking out over it, but there was a bicycle leaning against the front steps, and who else would be biking here right now?

"Jon?" came Stephen's muffled reply. A moment later he was out from under the shingles, head turning as he looked for company on the empty wraparound porch.

"Up here!" Jon poked his phone so the screen lit up, then waved. Now Stephen spotted him and waved back. "Stay there. I'll be right down."

For about two seconds he contemplated hopping the balustrade, making the short leap to the angled roof, and shimmying down one of its supports, firefighter-style, to the porch. Then he came to his senses and used the doors.

"It's just Stephen," he panted as he blew past Aunt Ruth, also on her way to answer the bell. "I got it."

He skidded to a stop in the front hall and gave himself a quick once-over in the mirror. Grey T-shirt, messy dark curls that were getting in need of a trim, a sheen of sweat across his forehead. Why hadn't he used the last five minutes to put on something nice? Stupid, stupid. No help for it now, though; all he could do was grab a scarf from the closet and pat down his face before greeting his visitor.

Stephen was kind of sweaty too, but he'd just pedaled all the way over from Jimmy's, so he had an excuse. "Hi," he said, sounding almost shy.

"Hi," said Jon cleverly. "Uh, do you want a drink?"

"Okay." Stephen stumbled after him, toeing off his shoes on the way.

And now Jon was out of things to say that weren't either TMI or song lyrics.

Halfway down the hall, Stephen got over his own unusual silence. "Jon, I — I'm s-sorry."

It was probably the first time Jon could remember Stephen apologizing for anything. "That, um, thanks," he said. "Stephen, I...I still don't understand what even happened."

"I heard Brian talking about how you'd gotten more manageable since he made you be friends with us," said Stephen.

Jon winced. Even at his most angst-ridden, he'd never wanted to be unmanageable for _Brian_.

"And I thought it meant you were only spending time with us because he told you to."

With its windows open to the sunset, the kitchen wasn't exactly dim, but it was still a shock to Jon's eyes when he flipped on the chandeliers. "Do I really seem that...withdrawn, or whatever, that you thought I could be faking it?" he asked, turning so they could talk face-to-face and backing into the room.

"Well, I didn't know!" protested Stephen. "But it doesn't matter now, right? Jimmy helped me to get it together, and now I understand that you really like us after all. Don't you?"

"Yes!" yelped Jon.

"Okay!" said Stephen.

There was never going to be a better opening than this. "I like _you_ ," continued Jon, plunging forward before he could lose his nerve. "Personally, you."

Stephen frowned. He looked kind of shaky himself, although maybe that was just Jon projecting. "Yeah, you said."

"No, I mean, I _like_ —" Jon gripped the edge of the island for support. "I really —" God, he was sounding more insipid than Kilborn-approved dialogue. "Can I kiss you?"

Stephen's face was as blank as if he'd asked it in Chinese.

"It doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to!" added Jon. His heart was pounding in his ears; there were sparks going off in the pit of his stomach. "If you hate it we can forget about it and pretend like it never happened. And I know I'm not Italian, and not exactly rugged, here —"

"Okay."

"— and I could be taller, and — what?"

"I said — okay," repeated Stephen softly, his face unreadable.

For a moment both boys were rooted to the spot. The way they had filed into the room, Stephen was in front of a bank of glass-paneled cabinets, framing his head with a bunch of the weird pottery Jon's aunt collected. He didn't look about to move any time soon, so Jon took a step toward him, then another, and there had to be some kind of sci-fi space-time distortion thing going on here because it was the longest three feet he'd ever walked.

Stephen blinked a few times, but otherwise kept a steady watch on Jon. His lashes were _long_. And, okay, he wasn't lunging into Jon's arms or anything, but as far as Jon couldn't tell he wasn't holding his nose and preparing to soldier through it like Jon had urged him to take just one bite of brussels sprout stew, so there was nothing here to panic about. Right?

Without thinking about it, Jon had lifted one hand. He caught his breath and curled it around the side of Stephen's neck, skin warm against skin.

Thus steadied, he rocked up on his bare toes and pressed his lips against Stephen's.

A flood of warmth rushed across his face, spreading outward from where Stephen's mouth was touching his, while his stomach-sparks went off like firecrackers and, yeah, his dick twitched hopefully against his pants.

When he fell back, Stephen was the first to speak. "Did you like it?"

"Yeah," said Jon dizzily.

Stephen settled his hand over Jon's wrist. "Did you...like it enough to do it again?"

Jon's stomach flipped over. "Yes!"

"Oh, _good_ ," breathed Stephen, and now he was in motion, bending over and tipping his head to the side to seal his mouth over Jon's.

His lips didn't just press, they pulled at Jon's until Jon let his mouth fall open and tried to do the same to Stephen's. It wasn't very graceful and they were kind of mauling each other's mouths and it was _amazing_. Jon clung to Stephen to keep from collapsing on suddenly-weak knees, a second before Stephen fisted both hands in the back of Jon's T-shirt and shivered, and, oh god, maybe this wasn't the most stable position. Jon wrenched their mouths apart and let his head fall against Stephen's shoulder (the one under the good ear) with a gasp. "Upstairs?"

"Upstairs," echoed Stephen. And then, uncertainly: "I can get my drink first, though, right?"

 

~*~

 

Stephen held his glass of iced tea in both hands as he followed Jon up the spiral staircase. He didn't even like iced tea. He'd kept it because he was thirsty, but he'd picked it out at random because his brain was full of _Jon Jon Jon Jon Jon_.

Jon didn't think he was worthless. Jon thought he was _hot_.

They usually hung out at Stephen's place, but he'd been in Jon's room a few times. It looked pretty much like he remembered: framed Springsteen and Star Wars posters, a big flatscreen with a handful of video game controllers strewn on the floor in front of it, a working record player, a wrought metal photo tree displaying an image of an ocean much greyer than the ones Stephen was used to, actual books filling most of his bookshelves. Even his bed was all bookshelves down the left side: short ones, the perfect height to sit a reading lamp on top of.

"You, um, you can put that down wherever," said Jon, nodding to Stephen's dripping glass.

"O-okay," said Stephen. "Where are your coasters?"

Jon twitched. "Uh, those would be downstairs. Don't worry about it, okay?"

"Jon!" cried Stephen. Much as he really, really didn't want Jon to go back downstairs, "I am not leaving rings on your furniture!"

"All right, all right!" Jon scanned the room, eyes falling on his desk. "Listen, would a mousepad be good enough?"

"I guess," said Stephen reluctantly.

Jon retrieved the mousepad from next to his sleeping laptop. After pressing it into Stephen's hand, he splayed his own across the front of Stephen's shirt and leaned invitingly in.

He'd gotten about a thousand percent better at kissing in the past five minutes. If Aesthetically Pleasing from across the Atlantic had made Stephen float, Jon was making him melt from the inside out. Stephen half-tripped forward...and the hand with the glass shook enough to send iced tea sloshing out, wetting Jon's T-shirt and running down Stephen's hand. He jerked back with a small cry of regret.

"Don't worry about it!" said Jon. "It's a cheap shirt, I've got a million of 'em..."

"It's your own fault!" interrupted Stephen. "You should have let me put this down first!"

"Okay, yeah, I know, I...." Jon trailed off, giving Stephen one of those Looks, the ones he got when he was thinking and analyzing and being all smart. "Stephen, are you freaking out about this?"

"I'm not freaking out!" yelled Stephen.

"Not so loud!" hissed Jon. "If my aunt hears — I mean, I think she'd be okay, but if we're not careful —"

"— we'd be out of our contracts faster than you can say 'happiest place on Earth'," finished Stephen, in a lower voice. Not to mention, Papa would disown him. "I know. And I am _not_ freaking out."

"Well, I kind of am," said Jon bluntly. He ran his hands through his hair. "Just put that stuff down already, will you?"

That, Stephen could handle. The cup went on the low bookshelf up against Jon's bed.

"Now c'mere."

Stephen obeyed, and found his dripping hand being taken in Jon's and rubbed down with the grey fabric of Jon's T-shirt. The shirt was loose and long, but not so long that a strip of Jon's stomach didn't get bared while it was lifted. Stephen's heart went all skippy at the sight.

"Better?" asked Jon after a moment, holding Stephen's hand through the fabric. Stephen nodded. "Okay. Come sit?"

He took a step back, tugging Stephen's arm after him, in the direction of the mattress.

Stephen froze, not-freaking-out all over again. "Jon, I — I'm a Christian."

Jon frowned. "Yeah, so? Your people have some kind of law against sitting on a bed with a Jew?"

"No! What we have is...I mean...there are things I won't do before marriage."

"Oh!" Jon's cheeks went pink; he let Stephen go. "I didn't mean...I wasn't saying 'come here and let me ravish you,' I was saying 'come here so we can sit down and make out some more.'"

He looked up again when Stephen crossed the carpet toward him, and they sank onto the edge of the mattress together.

This time Jon's fingers curled around the back of Stephen's neck, and he waited without leaning into it, so apparently it was Stephen's turn to move first. Well. That could work. Stephen tilted his head and locked lips with Jon once more, and, okay, it had been smart of Jon to lead him here, because this was way easier to do when Stephen didn't have to worry about his legs' continued ability to keep him upright.

He broke the kiss reluctantly, and didn't pull back very far. "We do have to tell Jimmy, though," he panted. Should Olivia know too? Was your fake girlfriend entitled to know that you were fake-cheating? How likely was it that she would figure it out anyway?

"I figured." Jon pressed his lips to the slope of Stephen's neck — and started when the shock of pleasure made Stephen jump. "Was that good or —?"

"It was good!" breathed Stephen. "Do it again!"

Jon left a trail of kisses down to the scoop of Stephen's collar, all of them electric. Stephen's nerves were singing under his skin. He leaned more wholeheartedly against Jon, and now both of Jon's hands were around his waist, slipping under his shirt, caressing up and down his spine. He could feel his heartbeat in the tips of his fingers, and in his....

He cast a nervous eye across the front of his pants. Still mostly flat. Jon's, on the other hand, were...less so.

That same Jon was now curling his fingers around the hem of Stephen's shirt. "Can I get this thing off you?"

Stephen reflexively pulled his elbows close to his body.

"Wait, really?" said Jon. "You've thrown off more clothing than that in front of me hundreds of times!"

"It was different then!" hissed Stephen. "Now you're looking at me with...with lust in your heart!" He nodded sharply toward Jon's lap. " _And_ your penis."

Jon turned so red Stephen could practically feel the heat rolling off his face. "Hey, it's not like it was unprovoked!"

Okay, sure, Stephen hadn't exactly gone out of his way not to be lust-inciting. But even so...."Jon?"

"Hm?"

"How _much_ do you like me?"

Jon blinked at him. "...A lot." He looked away. "Thought that was pretty obvious."

"Yeah, but how much is a lot?" pressed Stephen. "Is it just that I'm dazzlingly attractive and you can't help but be hot for that? It's okay if it is. I would understand. Or is the kind of thing where...maybe one day we could go to New York and you _would_ marry me?"

The hands still twisted in his shirt went tight. "Stephen, come on, you can't just skip to — listen, twenty minutes ago I was still getting up the nerve to ask if I could kiss you, two weeks ago I wasn't sure I could be that into guys at all, and now you expect me to know if I'd want to _propose_ —"

"I said it was okay if you didn't!" cried Stephen. "Anything you want is okay. If you just want to be my friend who likes kissing me sometimes, that's fine! I just want to know!"

Jon took a breath to reply, but whatever he'd planned to say caught in his throat. "Well," he said instead, letting his palms slide loosely back down Stephen's hips, "I was seriously considering singing my feelings at you for a second there, which should give you a clue."

Stephen's heart went skippy again. "You could do it," he breathed. "You could sing at me. That would be nice."

After a moment, Jon nodded. In this room, reflecting the bedcovers, curtains, and even the faint tint of the walls, his eyes were a brilliant blue.

"Boy, ain't no kindness in the face of strangers~ / Ain't gonna find no miracles here," he crooned, dipping into the lower end of his range, not exactly _deep_ but well below anything their pop songs called for. "Well, you can wait on your blessings my darlin' / But I got a deal for you right here: / I ain't looking for prayers or pity~, I ain't coming round searchin' for a crutch / I just want someone to talk to, and a little of that human touch / Just a little of that human touch...."

His voice was gritty and fluid all at once, roughened in an unfamiliar way that Stephen realized with a jolt was probably arousal. His eyes kept falling closed, and having his mouth this close as it shaped the words was more like being kissed again than it had any right to be.

"You might need somethin' to hold on to, when all the answers, they don't amount for much / Somebody that you can just talk to, and a little of that human touch~ / Baby, in a world without pity, do you think what I'm askin's too much? / I just want to feel you in my arms, and share a little of that human touch...."

...and the lyrics kept saying _just touch_ , but the brokenhearted tenderness in the vocals and the melody said that was a lie, it wasn't _just_ anything....

The song had trailed off. Stephen swallowed past the lump in his throat. "That's really nice," he whispered. "Springsteen, right? What's it called?"

Jon raised his eyebrows. "'Human Touch'."

"Oh." Stephen was blinking hard. "Oh, that makes...."

"Hey, are you...?"

Stephen put a hand to his mouth, sniffling.

"Stephen, hey, c'mon, it's okay...."

Jon pulled him in, and Stephen gladly clung to his shirt. It already had tea spilled on it; sobbing all over it couldn't be much worse. "I really, _really_ like you too," he choked, from the safe harbor of a baffled Jon's embrace.


	11. Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen gets shipped off to Vancouver for a few days, Tina Fey joins the madhouse that is the Shout*For studio, Jon dodges his aunt's friends, and Olivia discovers that the territory where she can hang out without a bodyguard has gotten even narrower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Jimmy & Tina clips: [abducted by aliens](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kkqfetbtnrs); [singing (badly)](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jSPU7OCOL44); [Jimmy praising Tina](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nyjeoxbWGD4).

  
_California, early morning._

Stephen flitted his hand over the top of his aquarium, dropping a trail of food into the water, and counted the fish as they zipped up to nab their share. Pluto, Perdita, Copper, Lady, Slinky, Zero, Max: the gang was all here. (Most of them were multicolored tetras, although Perdita was a Dalmatian molly, _obviously_.) He'd been given his first fish after being told he wasn't allowed to get a puppy, named it Bruno after the dog from _Cinderella_ , and stuck with the pattern ever since.

"I don't want you guys to worry while I'm away, okay?" he told them, as blue-and-white-striped Max and black-finned golden Copper fought over a nibble. "The automatic feeder's all set up, and Consuela will check in on you every day, and I will be back before you know it."

"Stephen!" called his father from the hall. "Aren't you packed yet, boy?"

"I'm packed!" yelled Stephen. He beamed at the fish for a moment longer, then grabbed his suitcase and his third favorite messenger bag. (He wasn't going to take either of the Louis Vuitton ones to _Canada_.) "I was just saying goodbye to the fish," he explained once he was at Papa's side.

"They'll still be here when you get back," his father reminded him.

"Yes, sir." Stephen knew that. It had been _ages_ since Papa had threatened to dump them out on the driveway if he didn't behave on-set.

It was grey and almost cool outside, the grass still dew-sheened from the night. The car that would take him to LAX was already waiting; the driver took Stephen's suitcase. Stephen kept a pointed hold on the messenger bag.

He tried to squint through the tinted windows to see if Ned was already there, only to have Papa get his attention with firm hands on his shoulders. "Remember, even if it's a small part, that's no excuse to be a slacker. You keep up that character every minute you're on camera."

"I will."

"And don't make fun of the Canadians. They can't help where they're from."

"I'll be a perfect gentleman," Stephen assured him.

Papa nodded. "And, son...I saw the photos of your outing with young Lisa a few weeks back."

"I was a perfect gentleman there too!" exclaimed Stephen. Now, as long as Papa didn't ask what he'd been with Jon last night....

"I'm sure you were," said Papa, with...an edge of disapproval? (That couldn't be right. Did he _want_ Stephen to get involved in a sex scandal?) "Reason I bring it up is...seems like a shame, your PR people have to go to the trouble of hunting down rentable dogs for things like these."

Stephen caught his breath. Papa couldn't mean...Could he?

"Why don't you take a look at breeds in your down time," his father continued, "and if you do America proud while you're up there, when you get back we can make a few calls, see what the puppy market looks like."

"I will do America _so_ proud," said Stephen fervently, hugging his bag. "Canada won't know what hit it."

"That's my boy." For a second Stephen thought he might get a hug himself, but Papa just patted him on the shoulder before nodding him to the car, where the driver was patiently holding open his door.

It turned out Ned wasn't there yet. Stephen buckled himself in alone, then settled the messenger bag across his lap as a pre-emptive defense measure before pulling out his phone.

 

~*~

 

It was probably for the best that Stephen wasn't physically present at the studio, since Jon was over the moon enough just thinking about him.

He barely registered the schedule laid out in the morning meeting. He kept coming in low on his voice practice, to the point where Madeline went back to running him through basic vocal exercises to make sure she had a handle on where his range was these days. When the cast of the latest episode (with Craig reading for Stephen) was sitting down for a table read, he introduced himself to the new girl, only to have Tucker roll his eyes and Jimmy gently point out that Jon had already met Tina Fey that morning.

"Nah, it's okay," said Tina, waving away Jon's stammered apologies. "I'm pretty forgettable."

In the seat next to her, Jimmy shook his head. "You are not! Goodness knows I've tried."

Jon did a double-take. Far from being upset, though, Tina's eyes were sparkling. "Next time the aliens beam you up," she replied, "ask for a mindwipe."

Okay, that was less of a relief. Jon had always gotten the impression Jimmy was the sanest person in Shout*For. "Sorry," he interrupted, "the what now?"

He was even more gobsmacked when Tucker said, "The _aliens_. It happened like twenty times. Got really overdone after a while, but I guess kids like things predictable."

Now Jon was just staring.

Tina bit her lip. "Guys," she stage-whispered to Jimmy, "I don't think he's seen the show."

"Okay, so I'm getting that you two know each other," hazarded Jon, looking from Jimmy to Tina. Which meant this had to be some inside joke. Right?

"You must be even more zoned out than you look," said Jimmy sympathetically. "Or maybe it isn't clicking because you didn't know me back then? Here, let's jog your memory."

He nodded to Tina and sat up straight, squaring his shoulders, and folded his hands on the table. Tina automatically did the same, their bodies angled slightly toward each other but their faces looking forward.

"Good night..." began Jimmy.

"...and have a pleasant tomorrow!" finished Tina.

Jon held up his hands in surrender. "I swear, I have no idea what the hell you guys are talking about."

"I _told_ you he hadn't seen the show," Tina admonished Jimmy, before finally giving Jon a straight answer. "Look, you know _Professional Important News_ with Demetri Martin? Kid-friendly take on current events plus lots of cross-promotion for whatever the company's doing next?"

"You have to know that one," added Jimmy. "We were _on_ it."

"With you so far," Jon assured them.

"Great!" said Tina. "Well, before that, the show that did basically the same thing was _Weekend Update_. Me and Jimmy were the co-hosts. Jimmy being kidnapped by aliens was a running gag, because it was really easy to put on some lights and set up the mechanism that lifted him out of the chair, and the audience always loved it."

" _Thank_ you," said Jon with a sigh. Now he could stop being horrified that his bandmates had been conspiracy theorists this whole time without him noticing. "Um, was Stephen involved, or...?"

"Stephen was doing _That's So Rachel_ most of those years, wasn't he?" asked Tina.

Jimmy nodded. "Did you see _that_ , Jon? With Stephen playing Rachel Maddow's little brother?"

"Doesn't ring a bell," said Jon with an uncomfortable shrug.

It wasn't easy, trying to wrap his head around the idea that Jimmy and Stephen had done major projects that didn't involve each other. Jon hadn't thought in much detail about their lives before they'd met him, but he'd always had the vague impression that they'd spent almost a decade joined at the hip. And now he found out Jimmy had another friend that he could settle effortlessly into a rhythm with. Sure, Tina looked remarkably like a girl version of Stephen, but that didn't make it any less jarring.

"I really thought everyone our age had..." Jimmy was saying, almost mournfully. "You know, at least caught an episode here and there."

"Listen, I'm sure you two were great on it," stammered Jon. Stephen would have had a better idea of what to say to make him feel better. But Stephen wasn't here, and Tina patting him on the back only seemed to go so far. "I never watched a lot of Disney Channel, that's all."

"Not cool enough for you?" asked Tucker dryly.

"The hell is your problem?" demanded Jon. "We didn't have _cable_ half the time, you dick."

(Tina looked mildly scandalized. "They're always like this," Jimmy explained in an undertone.)

"And you couldn't even be bothered to look at your friends' Wikipedia pages and get a retroactive clue about what they've worked on?" replied Tucker, without giving an inch. "No wonder Stephen dumped you as a friend."

"That was a misunderstanding!" said Jimmy quickly. "Jon's been un-dumped. Re-friended. Taken Off Notice."

Tucker shrugged. "So Stephen has the attention span of a mayfly. We already knew that. The point still stands."

Jon had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping something about how it had been in Stephen's mouth, and his knowledge of _That's So Rachel_ had not been a prerequisite. Mercifully, Craig chose that moment to call them all to order, forcing Jon to detach from the real world and pay some kind of attention to the TV one.

 

~*~

_Studio on the CW lot, Vancouver, British Columbia._

The information about _Wigfield_ that Stephen had found online couldn't seem to agree whether it was a heartwarming small-town drama, a biting piece of social satire, or a dark comedy. After several hours on the set in the midst of its actors, he was just as confused as the Internet was.

They were filming the season's two-part finale, in which the residents of Wigfield finally came together to carry off a parade honoring the history and culture of their town. One of the floats, meant to carry the ragtag school choir and its plucky teacher, had broken down at the last minute, and Stephen played the student who jumped up and made a Dramatic Speech about how they couldn't lose heart, then burst into song to remind them that the power of music would carry them through. The fact that he had never once been on the show before didn't seem to matter. Either it was a clever joke that interacted with the atmosphere of the series in a way Stephen didn't get, or the director wasn't big on continuity.

While they were running through the blocking in casual clothes, Stephen broke off after the first line of his Dramatic Speech. "Sorry, I'm still not sure how I'm supposed to be playing this," he said. "Am I totally earnest? Do I give it, like, a comedy spin, maybe go over-the-top with the emphasis? Am I confident this is going to work, or freaking out and making this last-ditch desperate effort to —"

"What you were doing is fine!" called the director. "Keep doing that!"

What Stephen had been _doing_ was flailing in confusion and letting his delivery waver all over the place. He didn't see how that could be right.

Everything had been straightforward when filming _The Princess And The Pop Star_. To say nothing of the Shout*For series, where Craig always knew exactly what he wanted and snapped when anyone (Jon, mostly) went a toe out of line. Why couldn't _Wigfield_ be that easy? Why wouldn't someone just tell him what to do? If he guessed and got it wrong — if he screwed the whole thing up, if Papa was disappointed — 

"Stephen? You still with us?"

"Just getting into character!" stammered Stephen, mind racing. He could start with what came most naturally to him, and work his way up to the more difficult approaches if the easy ones got rejected. Start by just...being himself. Speaking from an absolute understanding of how the world worked, without bothering to put a lot of thought behind it. "Okay, I've got it. Cue me."

And even if the director sent it to air without caring whether it was good, Stephen knew at least Jon would like it.

 

~*~

_Back in LA, afternoon, uptown._

"Don't look now," murmured Kristen over the display of thousand-dollar earrings, "but I think the guy with the sunburn is following us."

Great. Olivia had been planning on a nice, quiet afternoon of looking at pretty jewels and flashy handbags. And Kelly Van Susteren was supposed to be high-end enough that she wouldn't need Lonny trailing after her, ready to casually intimidate people who didn't respect a celebrity's personal space. "How long?" she asked, studying a necklace with chains of dark orange stones held by a big gold clasp.

"I dunno. Maybe ten minutes? I was checking Twitter for a while there, so it could be longer."

Olivia scanned the store over Kristen's shoulder. There was a gentleman in the store's crisp uniform about twenty feet down. "Security at two o'clock," she said. "Grab 'em, will you?"

Kristen nodded and swished off, the folds of the pearly grey skirt she'd worn today rippling over her legs. Olivia took a breath, made sure her hair was smoothed back, and turned.

Past a couple of designer scarf displays stood a middle-aged white guy with a terrible haircut. He was wearing sunglasses, a black jacket, and a shirt with the top three buttons undone, revealing that the sunburn on his face went some distance down his chest. Olivia wondered if he had tan lines left by the glasses. He seemed like the type. "Hello there!" she said, brightly, closing the distance between them.

The guy started, but recovered quickly. "Why, if it isn't Lisa Munn! I'm —"

"Did you want an autograph?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Because I accept cash," said Olivia, "but no checks, and definitely no credit cards. And you have to provide your own pen."

"Maybe in a little bit," said the guy, scrabbling to regain control of the conversation. "Any truth to the rumors you have an alcohol problem?"

It was Olivia's turn to be thrown. "What the fuck."

"Not language we're used to hearing from a star with such a clean image!" said the lone paparazzi aggressor, and, oh, great, he was holding a phone and probably had the camera rolling. "Anything in particular getting you down? Boyfriend troubles, maybe?"

"Look, if you want an interview, you really should've talked to my agent," said Olivia. "Might even have granted the request if you'd done it before you started following me around while I'm shopping."

"The dog you two have been seen with. Why is it never around any other —"

"Are you having any trouble, miss?" interrupted a clear female voice, from a woman also in the burgundy vest and sharply ironed pants of an employee, plus the tie of a manager.

Olivia nodded at the guy with the phone. "He's harassing me. Probably filming illegally, too."

Three more employees appeared out of nowhere, just as neatly pressed but notably taller than their colleagues. "Sir, we're going to need you to come with us," said the tallest icily.

"All I was doing was asking the young lady a few questions," the guy replied, with an oily smile. "But if you don't want my business, I'm happy to leave."

"Mmhmm. We're going to need to talk to you for a few minutes first. And take a look at that phone."

The guy considered this for a few seconds, then bolted.

Olivia threw herself to the left just in time to avoid being knocked over. The stalker hit the carpet and was tackled by security an instant later, while she fell back into one of the scarf displays. Arms wrapped around her from behind — "It's just me!" hissed Kristen as Olivia started to struggle.

"Please accept my sincere regret for this incident," said the manager who had first interrupted them, interposing herself between Kristen and Olivia and the man who was now thrashing on the carpet, yelling something about his first amendment rights. "On behalf of all of us at Kelly Van Susteren, I would like to —"

"Just get us out of here," said Olivia faintly.

"Why did you go talk to him?" hissed Kristen, arm around Olivia's waist as the manager led them into her office. "They would have gotten him anyway! You should have stayed out of the way!"

"He could have taken off," said Olivia. "Had to keep him talking while security got there."

"And what if he'd grabbed you right when you went up to him, huh?"

"Well, he didn't!" protested Olivia.

"But he could have!"

They sank onto one of a row of matching, expensive, stiff couches. "We will of course be providing both you girls with complimentary gift cards," the manager was saying. "Can I offer you anything to drink? Water? Tea?"

"Bourbon," said Olivia flatly.

"Of course," said the manager.

"She's kidding!" exclaimed Kristen. This was followed by a horribly fake-sounding laugh. "She's such a kidder, aren't you, Lisa? Ha ha ha! Water for both of us."

"And then can you give us a few minutes?" added Olivia. "I need to call my bodyguard."

"Naturally, naturally. Take as much time as you need."

As soon as she was out of the room, Kristen said, "Promise me you won't do that again."

Olivia managed to fumble her phone out of her shoulder bag, but her hands were shaking too much to dial. "Which one? Say hi to aggressive paparazzi, or ask for a drink from someone who's desperate to please me so I won't sue her store?"

"Both!"

"Okay, okay. I promise."

"Pinky swear," ordered Kristen.

Olivia obediently locked pinkies with her. "I'll do you one better. I swear it on my fabulous manicure."

Some of the tension went out of Kristen. It was bleeding away from Olivia too, the adrenaline rush dying down and leaving her drained and fuzzy.

"You really worry about me, don't you," she continued, turning the linked fingers into holding hands.

"How can I not?" huffed Kristen, with weary affection. "You're _crazy_. And half the time you don't even have me around to look out for you."

"Maybe I should go into animation too," said Olivia. "Less people recognize your face. And it's way lighter on the travel."

Kristen tugged her hand away. "You don't have to give up your dreams or anything," she said, straightening the bow that looped around the waistline of her dress. "Just, you know, maybe let Lonny do what they pay him all that money to do."

"Okay, okay. Calling him now."

 

~*~

 

Muffled laughter and the clink of cocktail glasses greeted Jon as he slipped into the house. Aunt Ruth was having one of her parties. (Book clubs, she called them, but as far as Jon could tell they were mostly about drinking and gossip and not once mentioning a book.)

He made his way upstairs as quietly as possible. Normally he'd let his aunt know he was home, but he didn't feel brave enough tonight to face down a pack of bored middle-aged women with too much money, some of whom were always trying to pinch his cheeks and tell him what a sweet boy he was, and some of whom were always trying to pinch, well, technically also his cheeks. He'd come across a fair amount of cougar videos that started like that. It wasn't nearly as hot when it was actually happening to you.

Between a movie nights, pool parties, and excursions for smoothies and pie, Jon had gotten used to not being around at all on party nights. But Stephen was out of town, Jimmy was spending the afternoon catching up with Tina, and he would feel like an intruder hanging out with Olivia and Kristen alone.

Safely ensconced in his room, Jon tried to remember what he'd done in his free time before he'd had friends.

He flipped through his shelf of video games, only to find that he'd finished all the single-player ones and none of them looked worth replaying. There was always going to be fresh porn on the Internet, but as he woke up his laptop he found himself strangely un-hopeful. He wasn't worried about it bothering Stephen — if anything, Stephen would probably appreciate Jon doing a little research, getting ideas for things two guys could do other than kissing that fell into "allowed before marriage" territory. It was just that, when you got right down to it, there was only so much you could jerk off....

Had he seriously just thought that?

Jon buried his head in his hands. Good god, what was Stephen doing to him?

 

~*~

 

When Ned rendezvoused with Stephen after the rehearsal had wrapped up, Stephen was still chatting with a couple of the regulars. "I know you were worried there, Steve, but what you did with the speech was great," the actress who'd played the music teacher told him. "You really nailed it."

Stephen was so pleased that he didn't even correct her about being called 'Steve'. "I guess it just comes naturally to me," he said, modestly playing down his triumph. "By the way, where's good to eat around here?"

"Don't worry about that," said Ned before she could answer. "We've got food taken care of," he informed Stephen, hand resting on the small of his back to guide him away. "Come on, buddy, time to clear out of here."

Stephen waved to his fellow actors and let Ned lead him out to a waiting car. He was starting to feel good about having come here after all. The people were nice, it was fun to make your own creative decisions once you got over being terrified that they would get you in trouble, and Ned had yet to do a single thing that creeped him out. Maybe he should do this more often.

"So, where are we having dinner?" he asked as their ride pulled away.

"The hotel has lovely room service," Ned informed him.

Stephen made a face, then peered through his tinted window at the lights of Vancouver. "Are the restaurants in Canada really that terrible?"

"Stephen, Stephen, Stephen." Ned squeezed his thigh. "This is why you don't do your own planning."

"I did already know about the poutine," said Stephen defensively. "I was prepared to work around that."

"It isn't about the food, buddy, it's about the company. Remember the photographers at LAX this morning?"

Stephen frowned. "There are always photographers at LAX." He'd grinned at them the way he always did. The only one of the band who rarely managed to look happy when the photos hit the Internet was Jon, which was just as well, given that he was The Broody One and all.

"And when you're traveling with the band, you have Killer around to keep them from getting too enthusiastic." (Killer was the band's bodyguard, and a fantastically scary one. He made _Stephen_ nervous, and Stephen was the one he was looking out for. It didn't help that Stephen had never heard him say a word.) "We didn't bring any security, and this isn't Hollywood. Not a lot of places prepared to deal with a star of your caliber."

"We should've brought Killer!" exclaimed Stephen. All this time he'd focused on trying to get out of the trip, he hadn't even thought about trying to get someone else to come along. Why hadn't Jon come up with that idea? Sure, Stephen hadn't told him the real problem, but that didn't mean he couldn't have thought of a real solution.

"I know, I know you love the attention." Ned rubbed his leg in a comforting gesture. "I'll try to make it up to you once we're back in the room."

 

~*~

 

When Lonny finally arrived at the Kelly Van Susteren, he was accompanied by a man Olivia vaguely recognized from her legal team, who interrogated both her and Kristen about whether they'd signed any waivers or releases or merchandise or body parts or anything at all (they hadn't). That done, he moved on to a discussion with the store manager.

"You girls don't need to stay around for this," Lonny assured them. "Where were you planning to go next?"

Olivia couldn't even remember. "Let's just go home," she said. They could use their gift cards some other time.

"Amen," agreed Kristen. "You brought a car, right?"

Lonny had. "Anything else you need from me, let me know," he said, he and Kristen flanking Olivia as they made their way through the now-cleaned-up store and down to the parking lot.

Olivia felt better just having him around. Lonny was about three times her mass, and his nice casual suit didn't hide the fact that it was mostly muscle; so far nobody had bothered her when he was around. He was also a pleasant conversationalist, but at the moment Olivia didn't feel like talking to anyone she didn't know as well as Kristen.

As they settled into the back of the car, Kristen said, "By the way, when you feel up to it, take a look at unicorngirl18."

Olivia agreeably poked through her browser app, bringing up the address of Stephen's secret Tumblr. She was greeted by a gifset of unspeakably adorable puppies, tagged "schnoodles", which was either the name of the breed or onomatopoeia for what the tagger wanted to do with them. "Ooh, these are too cute. I'd get one."

"Huh?" Kristen peered over her shoulder. "No, no, that must be a newer post. Scroll down a little."

Olivia scrolled past half a dozen more dog photo posts, including (if the tags were right) Toy Australian Shepherds, King Charles Spaniels, Pomeranians, and a couple of Chinese Imperials with their fur ponytailed over the tops of their heads using some truly hideous bows.

And then the puppies gave way to a string of hipster graphics, cutsey text over soft-focus photos of pretty white teenagers: Stephen had gone on a serious reblogging streak through Things Boys Do We Love. His selection included such profound phrases as "when boys have a cute laugh" and "when boys love animals" and "when boys have curly hair" and...and, uh, "when boys play guitar"...and, with startling specificity, "when boys have blue eyes and dark hair".

In spite of the trainwreck her afternoon had been, Olivia started giggling. At least _someone_ she cared about was having a good day.


	12. I'm On Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen, with the help of a special extra-American cardigan, is having a great time in Vancouver. And then he isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for non-con (offscreen, but only just), with a hefty dose of manipulation.

_Vancouver, but connected with LA thanks to the magic of Skype._

"So, how's Canada treating you?" asked Jon, his well-lit face and Jimmy's side by side on Stephen's screen. "Has anyone forced you to speak French yet?"

"Well, it's no Italy," said Stephen, "but it's okay. America's still the best, though."

Jon grinned. "Yes, we can see that."

Stephen preened. He was wearing his favorite cardigan; it had been released last year in honor of the Olympics, and subtly conveyed his national pride by being navy blue with red trim and white piping, and also by having "USA" printed in huge block letters across the back. He'd leaped for it the second Ralph Lauren put it on the runway, a steal at only $385 (which his brother Ed, who had been visiting for a few days when Stephen first wore it, explained was mostly to cover the fees for using the Olympic logo on the patch on the front).

It was a bit warm for indoor wear in April, even this far north, but right now he was compensating by not wearing a shirt underneath it.

"Hey, by the way, can you see anything behind me?" He held up the laptop, aiming the camera through the picture window behind the couch he was on. "The view out our window is mountains!"

"Sorry, everything past the window frame is pretty much black," said Jimmy. The view in his own frame wasn't much better, though Stephen recognized Jimmy's screen porch, and could fill in the scenery beyond it for himself. "Nice decorative plant, though."

"Uh-huh. We got a suite, so everything's classy. The plants are even real." There was a big leafy one next to the lamp he was using, and a smaller bowl of flowers resting on the coffee table his sock feet were resting on. "And the show is...I mean, I mostly don't understand it, but I think it's going okay."

"Judging by the TVTropes page, nobody understands _Wigfield_ ," Jimmy assured him. "And, hey, speaking of shows, did _you_ know Tina was going to be on ours?"

"Tina? Tina _Fey?_ " repeated Stephen. Jimmy nodded brightly. "No! That's awesome. Is she just guest-starring, or is this going to be a thing?"

"I sure hope it's going to be a thing!" Jimmy nodded to Jon. "I think they're setting her up as Jon's love interest. And they can't cram that whole arc into this season, because we have like one episode left."

Jon did a double-take. "Wait, they're what?"

Stephen narrowed his eyes. "And how's that going, Jon? Do you _like_ her?" 

"She seemed nice enough...!" stammered Jon, voice cracking.

"Jon had to be introduced to her twice," put in Jimmy. (Jon looked mortified, but didn't deny it.) "And I don't even know if 'love interest' is the plan, we've only seen scripts for a couple of scenes. It's just a guess, since it would be an easy storyline to do for the whole raising-Jon's-profile plan, that's all."

"It would," admitted Stephen. "Along with you getting to be lead singer. Which I have forgiven you for, by the way," he added magnanimously.

"Gee, thanks," said Jon. "Seriously, though, this song...did you guys ever look up the real lyrics before? What does 'every moment red-letter' even mean?"

"It's a more emphatic version of red-letter days," said Stephen without having to think about it. "Which means any day of special significance. The expression took off in the 16th century when the Book of Common Prayer had calendars with holy days printed in red ink, but it really dates back to when the Council of Nicaea made it a printing standard for church calendars back in 325."

"Neat," said Jimmy, looking impressed.

Jon wore a more complicated expression. "Seriously, how is it that you can rattle off all these amazing facts off the top of your head, but then you think the Mayo Clinic got its name from being dedicated to the study of mayonnaise?"

"I'm quirky and esoteric," huffed Stephen. "It's part of my charm."

In a sudden burst of sincerity, Jon sighed, "It really is."

There was a pause, during which Jimmy looked from Jon to the screen. "Hey, I think I hear the kettle boiling!" he said. (Stephen couldn't. The microphone must not be picking it up.) "Have to skip out for a couple minutes. You two, go ahead and keep talking while I'm gone."

So saying, he vanished out-of-frame.

"That guy is such a good friend," remarked Jon.

Stephen frowned. "For making tea?"

"No, for...you know what, never mind." Jon sighed. He was really pretty, even over a jumpy and low-res video stream. "I, uh. I miss you. Don't know if I mentioned that. I know it hasn't even been twenty-four hours, but still."

"I know the feeling," admitted Stephen. Why couldn't Jon have confessed to wanting to kiss him earlier? They could have been cuddling for days already by now, maybe weeks. He could've built up a reserve supply of affection before being thrown across the continent. "I...miss you too."

"Uh-huh?"

Stephen found himself running his fingertips along the curve of Jon's digital face. "Uh-huh. And I miss my fish."

Jon winced. "Not the category I was expecting to be put in."

"Well, it's a different kind of missing, obviously!" said Stephen. "I'm not planning on getting home and..." He threw a nervous glance at the half-open door to Ned's room. "...and doing...stuff...with my fish."

"Ah," said Jon, with a weak grin. "So, um, you're not...having second thoughts about...stuff?"

"I haven't had any time for second thoughts! I've been very busy with acting. Also, puppy gifs."

"Oh, well, in that case."

"I'm glad you understand," said Stephen primly. "Have you figured out how to use Tumblr yet?"

"That's the one that doesn't use the E, right?" asked Jon. "And Twitter is the one that does?"

Stephen groaned. What was the point of reblogging things with a super-subtle hidden message that only Jon would pick up on if Jon wasn't even reading them? "Make Jimmy explain it to you, okay? And then tell him to show you —"

He caught his breath.

"— well, it's been great talking to you guys!" he said brightly. "Gotta go now. I'll catch up with you more tomorrow, okay?"

He closed the lid of his laptop, cutting off Jon's "uh, okay —", just as Ned sat down beside him. In a fluffy white hotel-issue bathrobe (hopefully with something underneath it). Stephen would have died of embarrassment if Jon had seen it.

"So, how are your less-famous friends doing?" asked Ned, ruffling Stephen's hair.

"Lost without me," said Stephen automatically. "I'm surprised Jon can even remember how to sing when I'm gone."

"Well, not everyone can have the strong sense of direction you've got about your talent." Ned's arm settled around his shoulders. "Here, I have something to show you."

 

~*~

_Back at Jimmy's house._

"So you click the 'follow' button, which is always up here, and now updates will show up on your dashboard."

"Is the dashboard layout less confusing? Maybe with text in colors that are legible?"

"It's easy to get the hang of once you know what to look for! See, they have to have some kind of navigation, and these little unicorn-head graphics are next to each other and facing in opposite directions, which could mean 'forward' and 'back', so let's hover over them for a second...yes! These are how you browse."

"Well, sure. How could I not have figured _that_ out?"

"Now, Stephen's going to be following you back, so you might want to change your blog name, because he'll probably feel hurt if you keep referring to yourself as 'lonelyjew14'."

"It was the only thing I could think of on short notice! ...Did Stephen _make_ all these images?"

"No, no, those came off someone else's Tumblr. See the 'reblogged from' up here?"

"Oh. ...Hey, don't I get to be un-thrilled that he's, uh, reblogging pictures of hot guys with loving captions?"

"It's fine, they're just stock images, the point of it is...the words...."

"Um. Are there any other people we know who are following this?"

"...A few."

 

~*~

_And back in Vancouver._

Stephen held his breath as the next video loaded on Ned's iPad, then squealed with delight when an old familiar jingle started playing. "I forgot I'd even done this!"

"I'm not surprised," said Ned warmly. "It's been a while. That was before I'd even met you."

On-screen, a wide-eyed, chubby-cheeked Stephen took an awestruck bite out of a brightly colored hamburger. "Ooh, wait, I remember that part," said Stephen, wincing on behalf of his five-year-old self. "TV burgers are _disgusting_. All commercial food is bad, but those have to be the worst. Right off-screen there's the bucket where I got to spit it out right after every take."

Ned squeezed his shoulder. "Bet you didn't have to do many takes."

"I had pretty good motivation," agreed Stephen. Balking and refusing to put the thing in his mouth at all hadn't been an option, so the easiest thing to do was clamp down hard on your real feelings and fake it until you made it.

The fast food logo splashed across the frame, and then the playlist cut to something more recent: one of the clothing commercials Shout*For had done after their first tour. A narrator extolled the virtues of the brand ("comfortable whether you're in your own back yard — or on stage!"), while the four of them messed around in settings with various degrees of fakery. (The grassy hill was legit. The rec room was a set. The stage with all their instruments was real, but the crowd was spliced in from elsewhere.)

You wouldn't notice unless you slowed it down and tallied things frame-by-frame, but there wasn't a single shot of Jon looking buddy-buddy with Tucker. Stephen was dead sure the crew hadn't caught any that were remotely usable. They'd gotten a bounty featuring Stephen and Jimmy, plus a few of each of the pair with Tucker, and even back then Jimmy and Jon were friendly, in an acquaintance-y sort of way....

"Look at you, huh?" murmured Ned. "Talent coming out your ears. Those other kids do good work, but you? You're dazzling."

The praise dragged Stephen out of his rumination over the clips, no more than a few seconds long, in which he was treating Jon like an over-treated artificially-bright TV burger. "It's a gift," he said, trying to stop feeling all guilty and complicated and just be happy again.

"Between the album over the summer and the movie over Christmas, you're going to be sweeping the awards next year. Might even round up the rest of the big four."

Right on cue, the iPad began introducing the Teen Choice Music: Pop Album nominees from 2010. They had looked awesome that night, all in coordinating almost-suits (the businesslike stiffness sexed up with short sleeves here, a non-button-down shirt there, and some fun with colors). When Stephen had run along the front of the stage to high-five the lucky first row of the audience, his tie had gone streaming out behind him. Tucker and his bow ties didn't know what they were missing.

"I have a Kids' Choice Award, too," Stephen pointed out. _That's So Rachel_ had made Favorite TV Show in 2007.

"For a series where you were just one eleven-year-old in an ensemble," Ned reminded him. "This time you could get Favorite TV Show for the series where you're the _lead_. Hell, you could get Favorite TV _Actor_."

Stephen shivered in spite of himself.

"On the teen side, you could pick up awards all over the movie categories." Ned had lowered his voice; he was leaning close in to Stephen's ear now, the better to be heard over the recording of a screaming audience. "You could finally get that Radio Disney Music Award you deserve."

His breath was hot on Stephen's neck. Stephen could feel the tip of his goatee brushing against his skin.

"You might even catch an MTV Music Award," he all but purred.

The playlist had moved on again. Nine-year-old Stephen was in a line of other kids in the Barney backyard set, singing about how it was fun to play on a sunny day.

"I — I should go to bed!" stammered Stephen. "I have work. Early. In the morning."

"Now that's the kind of work ethic I like to see." Ned gave him a one-armed squeeze. "Come on. I'll tuck you in." He took back the iPad with one hand, and — as Stephen was getting up — patted Stephen's backside with the other, just briefly enough that it could have been a mistake.

Once Stephen had taken his Vaxasopor, he crawled straight into bed, cardigan and all. The heavy knit was much too warm now, especially after Ned smoothed the covers over top of him, but he couldn't bring himself to take anything off.

 

~*~

_The next day, on-set._

Stephen had rarely gotten to have backup dancers before. When eight of them joined him on the makeshift float that headed up the _Wigfield_ parade, he resolved to use them more often.

The outdoor rehearsal was chilly enough that he could run through the whole routine a couple of times without overheating, but it was still thirsty work, and as soon as they broke for lunch he mobbed the drinks table with the rest of the dancers. He downed half a can of soda before making it to the buffet line...where a tiny blonde actress (who he'd seen playing at least three different roles) positioned herself next to him. "You were on fire out there today, new kid," she told him, grabbing a turkey sandwich. "Listen, me and some friends are having a get-together later this evening. Mostly show regulars, but other people drop in now and then. Feel like coming by?"

"Amy!" reproached the taller man behind her (the director, who also filled out a place or two in the cast on his own). "He's only fifteen!"

"I'll be sixteen in three weeks!" said Stephen, with more than a little indignation.

"He'll be sixteen in three weeks," echoed Amy. "See? Nothin' indecent about it. So, Steve, what do you say?"

"Um...it sort of depends on whether my manager agrees." Before they could question his hard-fought image of maturity, he added, "For security reasons, of course! Is it in a public place?"

"Nope, my house," said the director. "And not to brag, but some of the actors here have pretty dedicated stalkers, and we still haven't had a cast party security problem once in three years. So I'm sure you'll be fine."

 

~*~

 

By evening it had finally cooled down to the point where Stephen could comfortably show up at the party in his favorite cardigan.

"Don't you look handsome!" said Amy when she saw him, completely unfazed by the blast of United States patriotism that was Stephen's torso. She pushed a cup of something bubbly into his hands. "Here, try one of these. It'll warm you right up."

Stephen looked nervously over his shoulder — Ned had been right behind him, and he had gotten in enough trouble already for drinking when the man _couldn't_ prove it — but by now his manager was halfway across the spacious backyard, and had inserted himself into a conversation with people whose names Stephen hadn't caught.

"C'mon, don't be shy. The drinking age up here is only nineteen, so you're practically there already, right? Live a little." 

Girls, Stephen decided, were bad influences. "I'm supposed to be here to bolster my reputation as a reliable professional," he told her.

Amy shrugged. "I guess that's fair. And you are only fifteen, after all."

She patted his arm and took off in the direction of the grill. Stephen watched her go, then took a good long look at the rest of the party: the pool (still empty of water at this time of year, so a bunch of guests were using it as a makeshift dance floor), the oversized outdoor sound system (a couple of people were arguing over the laptop it was attached to, presumably fighting about the playlist), the tables where people were eating (someone was laughing so loud Stephen could hear it from thirty feet away).

Everyone was having a good time. Most everyone had a drink sitting around. And nobody was being unprofessional or unreliable, because they were mature adults, and that was how mature adults rolled.

"Hey, Stephen!" It was one of the backup dancers, a blond who was taller and bulkier than Stephen but had more than enough grace for the role of being secondary to Stephen's moves. He jogged up to Stephen and jerked his head in the direction of the speakers. "You're only here tonight, right? Come over and help us settle on the music."

"Sure!" Stephen fell in step beside the guy, and knocked back a swallow of his drink: just one more grown-up ready to enjoy the party. The liquid was stronger than whatever Olivia had ordered for him back in Venice, and burned as it went down, but as long as he only finished this one it shouldn't be too bad. "Do you guys have any Springsteen?"

(If he got them to play Born In The USA, it would do his country proud _and_ make Jon happy.)

 

~*~

 

One drink, as it turned out, was enough to make all these mature and responsible adults turn hilarious.

After the music question was settled, he spent a while at one of the tables, where some actor's girlfriend tried to explain the plot of _Wigfield_. Stephen still wasn't really clear on the details, but it must have been a comedy after all. The description of the violin episode alone made him laugh so hard he nearly choked on his cannoli.

He was laughing about...some other thing, and it felt like the night had barely begun when strong hands settled on his shoulders. "Time to go, buddy."

"What, already?" moaned Stephen. "I didn't even get to dance in the pool yet!"

"You can drain your pool at home some time," Ned told him. "Car'll be here in a minute. Say goodbye to your friends, now."

"You're the...manager?" asked the actor whose girlfriend had been so helpful. "The dad too?"

"Just the manager," said Ned tightly.

"Well, you're a lucky guy," the actor informed him, tipping him a mug of something dark and foamy in congratulations. "Hell of a talent you get to work with. Stick to him, because this kid is going places."

He winked at Stephen, who grinned delightedly back. "I already am places! Vancouver is technically a place, right?"

Ned started kneading the muscles of his shoulders through the cardigan — not ungently, but with clear impatience.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," sighed Stephen. "See you tomorrow!"

He tried to walk away and wave at the same time, a feat of balance that proved a little too much, so that he ended up falling heavily against Ned's shoulder to keep from going down. Ned's arm slipped around his waist (under the cardigan, whose buttons had all come undone in the course of the night), and with that extra support he stayed upright the rest of the way to the car.

 

~*~

 

By the time they got to the hotel, Stephen thought he might actually be sobering up. He only half-stumbled once on the way to the elevators. Barely bumped into Ned at all.

He took the first step into the darkness of their suite, and reached for the lightswitch.

Before his hand could find it, Ned pinned him against the wall.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," murmured Ned, while Stephen's breath caught in his throat. "You don't have to keep throwing yourself at me. I've got you."

"I wasn't —" panted Stephen —

— and then his manager was kissing him, tongue slipping into his mouth, forcing Stephen to taste that he'd been drinking too.

When the older man let him go, it was to move his lips hotly to Stephen's neck, hands roaming Stephen's torso and tugging on his tucked-in shirt. At last Stephen unfroze enough to struggle. "Please," he whispered, twisting, trying to push Ned back. "Please don't...."

"Oh, buddy, don't start complaining now," purred Ned. His body was heavy against Stephen's. "Never heard you have a problem with me touching you before."

"No, but — but before, it was all _normal!_ "

Ned actually chuckled at him, then. "That's your normal? No wonder you run around kissing strangers. How many other people have you let get away with this?"

"None," pleaded Stephen, but why should Ned believe him? He _had_ gotten sexy with the aesthetically pleasing stranger. He'd let Ned get away with all kinds of things. Earlier, he'd even told Olivia it was normal. Maybe there really was something wrong with him, maybe he'd brought this all on himself...."And I won't do anything like it again! I'll be celibate as a...a nun, won't let anyone touch me, won't drink _ever_ , I swear...."

"We both know you won't do that." The calm assurance in Ned's voice wiped away Stephen's half-formed conviction that he could somehow resist Olivia's delicious cocktails and Jon's soft hands. "Besides," he added, rolling his hips against Stephen's (it felt like he was smuggling a roll of quarters in there), "you can't just wind a man up like this and then leave him hanging."

"I'm sorry!" cried Stephen, flattening himself against the wall. "I didn't mean to!"

"You say that, but you didn't exactly go out of your way to stop it, did you? Seducing your own manager. What would your father think?"

Stephen choked back tears. Papa would think he was sick, disgusting, ungrateful, a _disappointment_. A shame on the Col-bert name. _Definitely_ not getting a puppy.

"Shhh." Ned stepped back, but kept his hands clenched in the loose knit folds of Stephen's cardigan. "It's okay, buddy. You're not going to give me any more trouble, are you?"

"Don't want to be trouble," sniffed Stephen automatically. He felt hot all over; his shirt was untucked and rumpled, his belt askew.

"That's right. So you're going to come help me out now, and you're going to be real good and cooperative, and then everything's going to be fine. Nobody has to know what you've done. As far as Papa dearest knows, you'll have been a perfect angel this whole trip."

Stephen was so turned around, he had lost track of how much of this was his fault. Maybe all of it. When Ned tugged on his lapels, he stumbled obediently forward.

"Don't look so scared, sweetheart," the older man added, low and rough, as he guided Stephen to the king-size bed. "I'm not going to do anything that hurts you. I always take care of you, remember?"

 

~*~

 

When Ned finally started snoring, Stephen gently lifted the arm lying across his torso, slipped out from under it, and padded barefoot to the bathroom.

He was okay (he told himself, over and over). Still shaking, but not shaking too hard to unzip and aim, so it couldn't be that bad. Ned hadn't even taken any of his clothes off — Stephen had toed the socks off himself when he got too warm, reasoning that Ned had seen his bare feet before plenty of times — and his hands hadn't gone anywhere they hadn't been already (which was almost everywhere, but never mind that).

Stephen's own hand, though....

But that was nothing _he_ hadn't done already — to himself, granted, but one penis wasn't that different from another, right? Once you'd touched one, you'd touched them all. It wasn't like he'd had anything shoved in his mouth (tongues didn't count), or...it wasn't like _that_.

He tucked himself away and went to wash up, afraid at first to face his reflection in the mirror. To his relief, that was okay too. Hair all tousled, like he'd tossed and turned a lot in his sleep, and with red-tinged eyes, but he was a far cry from...debauched, or anything like that. Courage thus raised, he bent forward and craned his neck to one side and then the other. Didn't look like there were any marks.

It was over. The worst had come and gone. He was _fine_.

He focused on lathering up his hands...

...and abruptly noticed the stain. About halfway up the sleeve of his cardigan, on the inside of his elbow, lay a streak of whitish, crusted spatter.

Heart in his mouth, Stephen shoved his whole arm under the faucet, ran the stain through the water, worked at it with his fingers. He couldn't take something like this to be dry-cleaned; they would _see_. Bits of it flaked off under his desperate attention, but not all of it, not nearly enough.

He tore the cardigan off, threw it at the sink, and fell hard to his knees just in time to grab the toilet bowl before he started retching. The water was still running above him, but it wasn't until long after he'd lost everything left of his dinner that he had the strength to stand up and fix it.


	13. Don't Look Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stephen's friends welcome him home, season finales are filmed, and Olivia focuses hard on everything except her actual problems.

_LA, the next day, in the office of MacKenzie McHale._

"Now, before you go to Oregon, we'll need to —"

"Whoa, hang on a second," protested Olivia. Her manager could be scattered sometimes, but she didn't usually forget to let Olivia know about cross-country traveling. "Why am I going to Oregon?"

"Well, because of the contest, of course," said Mac. When Olivia stared blankly at her, she prompted, "The community service contest? Grand prize, Lisa Munn personally visits your school? Did I not mention that the winners were chosen?"

"No, you kinda skipped over that," said Olivia. Now she remembered: she'd filmed both the initial promo videos and the congratulations for the Lisa Munn Rock Your Community! Contest some time last year, and hadn't heard a word about it since. "What was the winning project? Was it good?"

"I certainly hope so." Mac looked between the whiteboard she'd been writing on and the agenda she'd been summarizing, then flipped the agenda over to make sure the project details weren't lurking on the back. No such luck. "Hmm. We'll get you a summary by the time you're on the plane. Any other questions?"

Olivia sat back in her chair. "Nah, we're cool. Continue."

"Yes. Well. As I was saying, before Oregon...." Mac turned back to the whiteboard, added another bullet point, then slashed out the capital letters PURITY RING in green marker. "We get you some new jewelry! Isn't that exciting?"

"Uh, sure," said Olivia, trying not to wince. "Exciting. Just the word I was thinking of."

Her manager broke into an endearing pout. "Oh, surely it isn't all that bad," she said. "You are a healthy and growing young woman, of course, and we appreciate that, but it's not as if we're trying to block you off from all...romantic entanglements. Just look at how supportive we've been of your relationship with Stephen."

"...which you made up," Olivia reminded her.

"But it shows that nobody's going to object to you having a relationship!" said Mac brightly. "And isn't there something romantic and appealing about the idea of these rings? It's the quintessential Disney fantasy, that you're keeping that flame in your heart burning for your One True Love, someone to whom you will be faithful before you've even met them...." A distant look came into her eyes. "...instead of cheating on them with an ex you didn't even like all that much, and ruining the best thing you ever had...." She sniffled.

"You need a tissue?" asked Olivia. There was a box on the corner of Mac's desk, she took it and slid it over.

"Yes, thank you, dear." Mac took a few, dabbed at her wet eyes, and blew her nose. 

Olivia looked politely away, and ended up staring at the whiteboard. PURITY RINGS was under GUITAR PRACTICE (she wasn't actually any good at guitar, but her management team hadn't yet given up hope), PHOTOSHOOT (a new set of print ads for Lisa Munn lip gloss), and STAR GIRL REHEARSAL (they finally had the scripts for the season finale), interspersed with BREAK and LUNCH and STUDY* (footnote: *IF TIME).

Sometimes Olivia really missed normal school. Half the kids she worked with had grown up with private tutors (like Stephen), if they hadn't flat-out been "homeschooled", but she had managed to keep attending an honest-to-goodness public school until she was almost thirteen. Sure, parts of it had sucked, but she had at least consistently felt like she was learning something...and her teachers had managed never to spill their personal issues all over class....

...and that was all the time she was going to spend dwelling on it. She was putting her career first, and didn't regret it. Besides, somebody in this room needed to stay focused.

"As I was saying...." Okay, Mac had finally recovered. Phew. "...we have a selection of ring designs here for you to choose from." She handed Olivia a high-res printout covered in images and blocky inscriptions, from the generic to the anviliciously Christian. "It would be particularly lovely if you and Stephen could present them to each other, but of course that depends on whether we can arrange it to look natural."

"Speaking of me and Stephen," said Olivia, as she gave the printout a cursory scan. "Do we have to keep 'walking a dog for a friend'? I mean, it's a little weird, isn't it? Because the gossip blogs think it's weird." It felt weird to _her_ , and she knew that it was technically true, inasmuch as the _Star Girl_ production editor was her 'friend'.

Mac frowned. "Well, I suppose you could just adopt the dog. Although its owners might object."

Olivia made a face. If she didn't have time to learn the fundamentals of biology, she definitely didn't have time to take care of a dog. "I'll pass."

 

~*~

 

 **Jon S.**  
Having a welcome-back party @ Stephen's. Late flight, so setup starts at 11. You in?

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Wait wait what? is he getting back from Canada?

 **Jon S.**  
Didn't he tell you?

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Yeah, just forgot it was now.

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
listen boo, this might not b a gr8 idea

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
u know how he was not so down w/Canada?

 **Jon S.**  
Don't worry, he was over that when we Skyped the other day.

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Well he might still want quiet BFF time 2nite. Not a party. To recover.

 **Jon S.**  
Jimmy says a pileon of friends will help, & I trust his Stephen-senses.

 **Jon S.**  
But np if you can't make it. We'll give your regards.

 **Jon S.**  
Hey did I mention there'll be pie?

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Curse u Jon Stewart u know my greatest weakness

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Im in.

 

~*~

 

Jon had his own doubts that they needed quite so many red, white, and blue balloons, but Jimmy insisted that it would be just what Stephen needed.

For a while Jon and Tina blew them up while Jimmy, being the tallest of the three, worked on rigging up a netting to hold them over the front door. Then Steve and Wyatt came along, and Wyatt helped with getting balloons into the netting while Steve applied his impressive lungs to the task of filling them, allowing Jon to make a break for the kitchen and set up the food.

Stephen's father had graciously allowed them to have stuff delivered earlier. He was staying out of their way at this point, although Jon had caught him looking in every now and again, presumably to make sure this gang of rambunctious teenagers didn't destroy any of the nice collector pieces on the walls. He didn't appear to be leaving to meet Stephen at LAX, but that wasn't unusual: whenever they got back from a Shout*For trip, it was only Jimmy, and occasionally Jon, who got personally picked up.

Jon arranged the pie (special delivery from Gloria & Jane's), a couple trays of mini cupcakes, and the cups, and was just working on plates when Olivia and Kristen found him in the kitchen.

"Hey, you," said Olivia, as the pair cornered him. "So, just for the record, when I said 'quiet BFF time,' I was also implying 'quiet BF time'."

"Um," said Jon.

"He's not denying it," said Kristen. She was in a particularly shiny dress, white with stripes of pink, yellow, teal, and lavender. It reminded Jon of a multi-layer ice cream cone.

"No, he isn't," agreed Olivia. She had shown up in a light shirt/cardigan set and jeans, pretty normal fare, although to Jon's unpracticed eye the denim seemed to be clinging tighter than usual.

Jon did a quick scan of the room's entrances, confirmed that there was nobody close enough to eavesdrop, and lowered his voice. "My god, you guys, all we've done is make out. _Once._ Are there rumors already? How far has this gone?"

Kristen lit up. "I _knew_ he thought you were hot!"

"I don't think anyone else we know has any idea," Olivia assured him. "Kristen, can you run interference for a minute?"

"On it." Kristen relieved a still-blindsided Jon of the stack of plates. "I'll take these!" Humming, she carted them out.

Olivia leaned seriously against the counter she'd backed Jon into. "Yo, I don't want this to feel like jumping down your throat or anything, but. You know how Stephen can be kinda...fragile, sometimes?"

"If you're going to give me the 'don't break his heart or I will cut you' speech, don't worry," said Jon dryly. "Jimmy already took care of it."

"Really?" Olivia looked momentarily impressed. "Didn't know he had it in him."

"Trust me, neither did I. And, listen, the last thing I want to do is...." Jon grimaced, considering what kind of promises he wanted to make about protecting the emotional state of someone who got mortally offended when the snack table featured baby carrots. "I mean, we both know that Stephen gets upset over the dumbest things sometimes, right? But if we're talking about genuinely hurting him...I'd cut off my own arm first."

"Okay, you don't need to go that far," said Olivia quickly. "I just wanted to say, he might be extra fragile about, like...boyfriend stuff, at this point. So this is your official reminder to make sure you're being sensitive and empathetic and whatever."

"I will do my best," said Jon, in all sincerity. He wondered vaguely what 'at this point' meant. Something about being in the middle of a whole fake straight relationship rigmarole, probably.

Olivia patted him on the arm. "Good man. Now, come on, let's get out some forks."

 

~*~

 

It was jarring for Stephen to suddenly be surrounded by friends, but a relief once he realized they weren't treating him any differently than usual. Plus, it was never not fun to have a hundred balloons showered on your head.

He would have stayed up longer, but between barely sleeping, working all day, and flying all evening, it had been about the longest day of Stephen's life. After only half an hour of sitting with the crowd around a table, eating all-American apple pie and playing a party game whose name he'd forgotten, he was dead on his feet.

It was Olivia who noticed, and announced that everyone had to go home now.

During the general flurry of ferrying stray dishes to the sink and gathering up belongings, she pulled Stephen into a quiet corner and squeezed his hands. "You're okay, right? Tell me you're okay."

"Fine! Fine," insisted Stephen. When she didn't look convinced, he clamped down hard on all the things he didn't want to think about and admitted, "My favorite cardigan got ruined."

"Sucks," said Olivia sympathetically. "Okay, we're gonna take off, but I just wanted to let you know...me and Kristen caught the thing about Mr. Blue-Eyes-And-Dark-Hair." Her eyes flickered in Jon's direction. "So, congratulations on that."

Stephen's eyes widened. "How did you...? I was very subtle!"

She gave him a quick hug. "Sure you were."

Like a whirlwind almost everyone had blown out of there within a few more minutes, leaving only Jimmy and Jon. After Jimmy had hugged Stephen too, he said he'd see Stephen tomorrow — and yes, he and Jon were taking the same car, but Jon didn't have to leave right this second, Jimmy could just meet him outside.

"Um," said Jon, once they were alone in the front hall. "Sorry if this whole thing was a bad idea."

"It was an okay idea," Stephen assured him. It wasn't his friends' fault he was too tired to have fun properly. "Come here?"

Jon took a step closer and rested his hands on Stephen's shoulders, throwing a nervous glance behind them. "Your dad won't...? He was kinda lurking around giving us all the evil eye earlier."

"He's always asleep by now," said Stephen, tipping his head hopefully toward Jon's.

With a soft sigh Jon's lips closed over his, fingers lacing together around the back of his neck. Stephen wrapped his arms around Jon and leaned into it. Jon was so warm. And so gentle. And he tasted so good — like over-sugared apples.

"We should do this more," Stephen breathed when they parted.

"That was my plan, yeah," said Jon, breaking into his adorable crooked smile. "I'll see you tomorrow too, okay?"

"'Kay," said Stephen. And then, just to press the point home, he dropped an extra kiss on Jon's cheek.

 

~*~

 

Olivia and Wyatt, both in their superhero costumes, settled into their best dramatic poses in the middle of a set strewn with extras' bodies. At this point in the finale, their stunt doubles had just finished high-kicking, backflipping, and karate-chopping a small army of the Big Bad's minions. "Nice moves!" exclaimed Olivia, for the second time that afternoon.

"Not so bad yourself," said Wyatt, who never had any trouble sounding naturally relaxed no matter how many takes they'd done.

They both turned back to the figures on the raised walkway above them: the villain, wearing ominous red goggles and a black lab coat, and the victim, a terrified-looking Kristen tied to the railing with a whole lot of stage knots. "You're finished, Doctor Darkness!" declared Olivia. "Turn yourself in quietly, and we'll go easy on you!"

"Not so fast, Star Girl!" cackled "Doctor Darkness". "For you see, I have rigged my machine...to explode! If you follow me, your little friend here will be left to die! Ahahahahaha!" Right on cue, the invisible wires he'd been hooked up to started lifting him off the walkway, carrying him towards the nearest window. (The CGI and sound effects of his rocket boots would be added in later.)

Olivia and Wyatt exchanged a look of shock, then determination. "You disable the machine, Comet Guy," ordered Olivia. "I'll take care of Sadie."

"Cut!" yelled Charlie. "That's it. That was beautiful. Someone get the harness for Lisa, please!"

Wyatt stepped obligingly out of the way, dodging uniformed extras, as one of the techs showed up with Olivia's own set of wires. It was times like this she didn't miss a single thing about her pre-fame life. Sure, this was a far cry from the kind of writing that got you an Emmy nomination, but it was _fun_. She got to be a five-year-old playing superhero again, and get paid for it, and this time there were a bunch of professionals on hand to lift her into the air.

To make sure she got the fullest enjoyment out of the soaring scene, she hadn't even had any drinks today.

Three takes later, they were pulling her out of the harness up on the platform. "My hero," said Kristen dryly. "Leaving me up here, tied up this whole time, just so you can get some extra flying in."

"Don't question my methods, citizen!" ordered Olivia, ducking to get a strap over her head.

"Hey, keep up that attitude, and I might find some other pop star to be for Halloween."

"We both know you only got that costume to make fun of it," Olivia reminded her. (And it had worked. Olivia had been deeply weirded out over the idea that people were being "her" for Halloween, until Kristen had gotten her to see the whole thing as ridiculous rather than creepy.) "Besides, I deserve some kind of —"

She caught herself held just in time. The harness was all off now; she held still for a minute to let one of the makeup techs fix her hair.

"Some kind of what?" asked Kristen.

 _Some kind of reward for being so sober,_ Olivia had been about to say. But that made it sound like her (tiny little bit of) drinking at work was a problem, as opposed to just a thing that made Kristen grouchy. Besides, the climax of the episode was going to involve "Lisa" kissing "Flint", and while Rob Riggle was a nice enough guy, she was still going to need a nip or two to get through it.

"Forget it," she said, and waved over the railing. "We're ready!"

"About time!" called Charlie from the ground. "Places, girls!"

 

~*~

 

"Cut!" yelled Craig, for the umpteenth time. Everyone in the fake classroom — Shout*For, Tina, and the usual bunch of extras — slouched in their chairs, a mutter of irritation running through them. Everyone except for Stephen, who had been standing in front of the chalkboard giving a speech. He just went quiet.

The show's final storyline of the year involved the in-series version of Stephen's decision to run for class president. Tina's character, "Taylor", was his main competition, and had leveled the charge that Stephen was way too busy being a pop star to have enough free time to do the job properly. Stephen's counter-argument was to announce that he would keep the workload manageable...by only running for class president of math class.

It was, in Jon's judgment, one of the few genuinely funny things they'd done all season.

Less funny was the way Craig was going off on Stephen. ("What is wrong with your delivery today? You need to _enunciate!_ Stop racing through your speech like you just want to get it over with! How is the audience going to believe you give a damn about this if..." And so on.)

The rest of the cast started trying to spare him some embarrassment by finding other things to look at. In Jon and Tina's case, since they had adjacent desks, it ended up being each other. Jon took the opportunity to lean over and ask, under his breath, "Did the script or something specify to play that as a Sarah Palin impression, or was that all you?"

Tina lit up. "You noticed! No, that was all me. I just thought, okay, my lines are all written real serious, so how do I deliver them in a way that's funny? At least, I hope it's funny. I don't know if it works for viewers who weren't following politics three years ago."

"Well, for what it's worth, I thought it was hilarious," said Jon. He hadn't exactly been a political junkie at thirteen, but his best (only) friend from middle school had been pretty into it. Between that and catching the occasional rerun of _The Daily Show_ , he couldn't help picking a few things up. "And, uh, spot-on. From what I remember, anyway."

Any further conversation was cut off by Craig yelling for everyone to get back into starting positions.

Stephen got through his whole campaign speech without incident this time. He was articulate, he was vivacious, he didn't race through or trip on any of the words...and if to Jon's eye his energy seemed sort of manic, with none of his usual control, well, the viewers probably wouldn't know the difference.

Jon started clapping almost before Stephen had finished. As the rest of the "students" joined in, Stephen broke into a weak grin and took off down one of the aisles, high-fiving the people at the desks he passed.

Until he took a wrong step, barked his shin on one of the desks with a loud _bang_ , and went down, grabbing unsuccessfully at the fake wood desktops around him to break his fall.

"Cut!" shouted Craig, as the cast held its collective breath.

"I'm okay!" called Stephen's muffled voice from the floor.

Jon rocked back in his chair, then forward, trying to get a visual on Stephen through the tangle of desk, chair, and human legs. Two seats ahead of him, Jimmy was doing the same.

"So get up, already!" said Craig.

After several long seconds of Stephen not getting up, Jimmy finally leaped out of his seat. Jon was right on his heels.

They found Stephen pushed halfway up on his elbows, breathing hard. Jimmy dropped to his knees in front of his BFF, who promptly collapsed into his lap. "Hi," he said weakly, reaching for Jimmy's hand. "I don't think I can get up."

"Can we get some water over here?" yelled Jon at the crew. To the frozen actors on either side of them, he added, "Sam, Jason, move your desks over! Let him get some air."

As the cheap desks were dragged across the floor with a screech, Brian shouldered his way into the circle of space opening up around Stephen, water bottle in hand. "Just relax for now," he said as he sank into a crouch at Stephen's side. (Jon could have kissed him for that.) "Lie flat. Are you dizzy? Lightheaded?"

"Wasn't me," mumbled Stephen. "The ground got all wobbly."

"Let's get you on your back, okay? Jon, come on over here and elevate his feet for me." (Jon gave the desk he'd been moving a final shove, and was at Stephen's feet by the time he managed to roll over.) "Does anything hurt? Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

"Tired," breathed Stephen. "Just tired. Gimme...five minutes. And some more coffee."

"No more coffee for you today, young man," said Brian sternly. He rose to his feet and addressed Craig, who had finally had the good grace to come onto the set and get a look at Stephen. "Have everyone take five. Or maybe fifteen."

Shoulder-to-shoulder with Brian, Craig said, "There are other scenes we can film. Stephen isn't in every...please understand, I'm sympathetic, but we're on a tight schedule here, and...."

Jon would have sent him a death glare if he hadn't been so wrapped up in Stephen — who opened his eyes long enough to catch Jon's and give him a hopeful smile before closing them again.

"You're not going to get anything useful out of any of these boys until they know their friend is feeling better," pointed out Brian.

A movement at the corner of Jon's eye caught his attention. He glanced over just long enough to take in Tucker standing awkwardly next to them, hands in pockets. Maybe it really was "any of them" after all.

Craig sighed. "All right, everyone, take five!" he shouted. "Or maybe fifteen! We'll let you know how it goes."

The camera crew and the rest of the cast started flowing out of the studio. Brian was on the phone: "Yes, we're down at studio 30. My guess is he just needs some rest, but someone should come and check him out. All right, thank you." Stephen woke up a little more and felt around for the water bottle; Jimmy helped him sit up enough to get a drink.

"Stephen, do you feel up to walking back to your dressing room?" asked Brian, just as a shadow in the shape of the band's bodyguard loomed over them. "Or should Killer carry you?"

"Feel fantastic," mumbled Stephen. "Fit as a fiddle. Never better. You can keep taping, I'm sure..." He trailed off, bravado withering in the face of Killer's expression. "...okay, you can carry me."

 

~*~

 

Jon, Jimmy, and Tucker ended up banished to the practice room. For a while nobody said anything. Tucker picked up his guitar, held it for a few minutes without playing anything, then put it back down.

"Shouldn't have kept him up last night," said Jimmy softly.

Jon had been thinking the same thing. "Yeah, well, we can't take it back now," he snapped. "So we just have to be more —"

The door opened. All three boys snapped to attention.

"You'll be happy to hear that there's nothing seriously wrong," said Brian by way of greeting. "Garden-variety exhaustion, nothing a few days of rest and a little less reliance on caffeine in the future won't fix. His father's coming in to pick him up."

"Oh thank god," breathed Jon.

"We're all taking the rest of the day off, and Stephen will be off on Friday, and under orders to take it easy over the weekend. I wouldn't be surprised if he'll want visitors, but do remember to keep things calm." He took a moment to look each of them in the eye. "As for the rest of you...I want to emphasize that we would rather give you extra downtime _before_ you've worked yourselves to the point of almost passing out. If you feel like your health is suffering, for any reason, you come and talk to me. We'll work something out. You understand?"

Nods all around.

"All right. First test, and be honest with me, now: do you think you would benefit from also having the day off tomorrow?"

Tucker was the first to answer. "I could come in," he said, sounding almost embarrassed about it, a far cry from his usual smugness. "I mean, you know, we can't all be in as high demand as the great Stephen Col-bert, so...I'm ready for whatever."

"Me too." Jon shrugged. "I've got finals coming up, so I could use some extra time to study, but health-wise, I feel okay."

Jimmy didn't answer. When all eyes turned to him, Jon realized with a start that he was tearing up, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the bench they were sitting on.

"Take your time," said Brian gently.

"I'm fine!" gasped Jimmy. "But — but Stephen's _always_ fine, and —"

Jon hesitated for a second, then put an arm lightly around Jimmy's back. "Hey, uh, he's still fine," he stammered. "Just let him get some sleep, and you'll see, he'll bounce right back."

Jimmy's head was still hanging, but he bit his lip hard and nodded.

"As it happens," said Brian, "the filming scheduled for Friday has been postponed, because the writers need some time to retool what's left of the script so it doesn't rely to heavily on Stephen running around. Tucker, Jon, I'd like you to come in for a half day tomorrow. Do some practice, take a first look at a couple of the songs that are going to be on the next album. Jimmy, take the day off. Do something relaxing. Stream some meditation MP3s and wear your most comfortable hipster vintage clothing, or whatever it is kids do to unwind these days. Now, let's work on getting you three some rides home."

 

~*~

 

In the passenger seat, Stephen gazed quietly out the tinted window.

Part of it was because he was still tired, though after a drink and some fruit he felt up for sustaining a conversation, and even, eventually, walking from the driveway to his bed unaided. The other part was that you didn't generally speak around Papa unless you were spoken to, and Papa had yet to say a word.

They were past the checkpoint and moving down the safely gate-enclosed streets that surrounded home when he finally spoke. "I didn't raise you to skip work on a lark any time you feel like it."

"No, sir," said Stephen. Of course this was a special case. He wasn't going to let it give him Ideas.

"You're only getting this because the doctor says you're real worn out. Medically, I mean."

"Yes, sir."

Papa let that sit between them for a while, then added, "You know, a dog's a big responsibility."

Stephen's stomach turned. "You _promised_."

Silence.

"There are easy dogs. Nice calm lap dogs," he added. He'd done research. He knew. "Pets are good for stressed people. They help you calm down. And..." He gulped. "And I was _very good_."

More silence. The silhouette of the Col-bert estate cut across the skyline.

As they were pulling into the driveway, Papa finally said, "Let me know when you've decided on a breed."

 

~*~

 

Mac caught Olivia as she was coming off the set. "I have good news and I have bad news," she announced, looking far too perky.

"What's wrong?" said Olivia immediately.

"Well, the bad news," admitted Mac, "is that Stephen will not be available for your date tomorrow. He's not feeling well, I'm afraid."

"Why? What happened? Is he sick?"

"I'm sure it's nothing serious! The poor boy's been a bit overworked, that's all. Don't you want to hear the good news?"

"Fine," sighed Olivia. "What's the good news?"

Her manager beamed. "Your publicity-related dog worries are over!"


	14. Gave It A Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen and Jon take another step forward in awkward teenage romance. Olivia's increasingly mired in awkward teenage romantic confusion. Kristen might be leaving the show, Matthew McConaughey helps out, there's a new puppy to be named, and we get a glimpse of what the comedy/late-night world is like in an AU where all those people are teen singer/actors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Refers to [Olivia's pro-bear organization](http://www.g4tv.com/videos/43491/best-of-olivia-09-ebbgasf-psa-video/#video-43485). For Olivia's single, I borrowed our-world Miley Cyrus' [He Could Be The One](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xJGoWkeGBBY).

The Col-berts' housekeeper let Jon in. He found his way to Stephen's room, but heard a voice inside paused at the half-open door, trying to make out enough of the words to figure out whether this was a good time to come in.

He heard: " _'Dawn take you all, and be stone to you!' said a voice that sounded like William's but it wasn't. For just at that moment the light came over the hill, and there was a mighty twitter in the branches._ That means the kind of twittering that birds do. They don't have the Internet in Middle-earth."

Jon knocked. Once invited, he let himself in and asked, "Are you reading _The Hobbit_ to your dog?"

Stephen was curled up on his bed (which did not have _Lord of the Rings_ sheets, but did have a throw blanket with a design that he had testily identified for Jon as the White Tree of Gondor), sitting against the headboard with the paperback in his lap. "It's very important that she have a solid understanding of why it's important to bark at orcs, but visiting dwarves are okay," he declared, skritching the head of the puppy lounging happily at his side.

The little dog was an English Toy Spaniel, white with reddish ears and patches, whose curious, bright-eyed looks had been rocketing around the Internet since Stephen had tweeted the first photo not forty-eight hours ago. She looked a little nervous as Jon approached, but with Stephen petting her and murmuring reassuring things, she sniffed the hand he offered and seemed satisfied.

While Stephen marked the book and set it on the nearest end table, Jon shrugged off his jacket, tossed it over a chair, and took a seat on the bed facing them. "You look better," he said to Stephen, one hand automatically moving to stroke the puppy.

"I feel better!" agreed Stephen. "Like I told Jimmy, I took a couple of Vaxasopor that afternoon and crashed for about twelve hours, and everything's been pretty much normal since." He paused, pensive. "Although I haven't really been allowed to go anywhere. Or have more than one visitor at a time. So that might be contributing."

Jon was still stuck on the first thing he'd said. "A _couple_ of Vaxasopor? Stephen, you're not supposed to let yourself build up a dependence! It isn't healthy."

Stephen crossed his arms. "My doctor _told_ me to start taking two a night."

"...Oh." The Internet had told Jon it wasn't safe, but he was just a teenage hypochondriac, not someone with a medical degree who would know when the exceptions were. "I guess that's different. Hey, does this one have a name yet?"

His attention redirected to the puppy, Stephen relaxed. "Almost! With the kennel name and everything, it's going to be Stephen's Something-or-other of Hill Valley. The Something part has to start with B, because these breeders do theme naming and her litter is all B names, but I can't narrow it down. I was thinking of naming her after Berúthiel, but that would be awkward because Berúthiel was famous for her cats. Also, evil."

"There's always —" began Jon.

"Don't say 'Bruce'," Stephen told him.

"What? I wasn't!" stammered Jon, with an unconvincing laugh. "It's not like I have only one interest in life, geez."

"Then what were you going to say?"

"Um...." Jon scanned the posters around Stephen's room, hoping for some quick inspiration. His eyes landed on the brightly-colored and flower-stenciled _That's So Rachel_ poster, which he had seen plenty of times...but apparently never really looked at. "Hey, that's you, isn't it?"

"What? Where?"

Jon pointed. "The sassy eleven-year-old in the very stylish jean jacket."

"Well...yeah," said Stephen, like he wasn't sure if Jon had vision problems or just slow.

"Sorry, it's just that I only heard you were in the show recently...and now it turns out I could have figured it out months ago if I'd been paying attention," said Jon sheepishly.

Now looking outright concerned, Stephen gestured over Jon's shoulder. "You do know it's me in _that_ one, right?"

Jon followed his gaze to find, hanging over the fish tank, a big framed poster from the previous summer of Shout*For lounging on a set of bleachers. Stephen and Jimmy were leaning against each other, grinning; next to them sat Tucker, and then Jon, who looked like he'd been extra broody that day. "I do recognize the ones I was there for, yeah."

"Just making sure." Stephen scooped up the puppy and kissed her on the forehead. " _You_ are going to be in posters one of these days. Yes you are!"

Jon put on a half-serious rakish grin. "How about a kiss for the guy who's already in posters?"

"I don't know," said Stephen, with perfect solemnity. "Do you have a pedigree?"

"Can't I get along without one?" protested Jon. "It worked out all right for Lady and the Tramp."

Stephen's cheeks turned pink. "Point taken," he said, and patted the spot next to him, inviting Jon over.

It was a little weird kissing with an audience, but as long as the puppy in Stephen's lap didn't mind, Jon didn't either.

 

~*~

 

Before they knew it, filming was over for the season, and all the TV stars had a week off before plunging into their next round of recording sessions.

"Except me!" said Kristen, who was once again providing company for one of Stephen and Olivia's fake dates, with the group rounded out by Jimmy. (Jon had begged off due to finals. Lonny and the boys' bodyguard were in the park too, but keeping discreetly out of the way.) "I've got recording sessions for the next couple days. And another audition! They're working on casting for a couple of fall animated pilots."

Stephen tugged on his new puppy's leash as she ran barking after a sparrow. "That's so cool," he said. "But isn't it going to be exhausting, doing _Star Girl_ and a full animated season at the same time?"

Olivia was startled to realize she hadn't thought about this.

Kristen just shrugged, sundress bouncing with the motion of her shoulders. "I guess if I get the new part they'll probably write my character out of _Star Girl_. Have her move away or something."

"And you're going for it anyway?" blurted Olivia.

"Here, I can hold this," said Jimmy, taking the leash out of the struggling Stephen's hands. (The puppy couldn't have been more than like two pounds. Stephen was just that easy to yank around, apparently.) To Kristen and Olivia he added, "You guys are gonna be fine! Me and Stephen found plenty of time to hang out when we were working on different shows."

"And I don't even know if I'll get anything yet, come on," added Kristen, though she was avoiding Olivia's eyes.

"Don't even worry about it," said Olivia, backtracking quickly. " _Star Girl_ wasn't gonna last forever anyway, right?" At the rate her career was going — she was filming another movie in late summer, a heartwarming tale about two stepsisters from very different worlds who learn to appreciate each other — the show probably only had one more season before her big-screen commitments swallowed it whole. "You're going to be amazing and I am very pre-emptively happy for you."

"Thanks," said Kristen, then turned to Stephen. "So, uh, does the dog have a name yet?"

For a while they debated the merits of various options. Celebrities: Björk was agreed to be too esoteric to saddle on a simple puppy, while Barbra Streisand and Bette Davis were too "might as well tattoo a rainbow flag on your face and put a neon sign over Olivia's head saying BEARD". Sci-fi homages: Beru had about five minutes of screen time before being killed by stormtroopers; Bashir was too obviously making out with Garak; the Bene Gesserit scared Stephen. American presidents: Bush had fallen out of favor with Stephen's father, and Barack had never been in it, so neither was an option.

"You could name her after someone from Mad Tea Party," suggested Jimmy. "Beck or Bill...well, make it Billie with an -ie, and it would work."

"You've done the obvious and gone through Disney characters already, right?" added Olivia. "I mean, your fish are all named after dogs, so you could name your dog after some other animal. Call her Bambi, or Baloo or Bagheera or whatever."

Stephen recoiled in horror, and crouched to scoop up the puppy from where she'd settled into trotting by Jimmy's feet. "Don't you listen to her, baby girl!" he instructed, at the pup's confused squeak. "Nobody is going to name you after a _bear_."

"Well, excuse me," snapped Olivia. "I didn't know you harbored such base prejudices against one of nature's beautiful and majestic creatures."

"One of nature's godless killing machines, you mean!" shot back Stephen. "As soon as I get my trust fund, I'm starting a foundation to warn people about the dangers of treating bears as anything other than a menace to be exterminated."

"Hey, I may be younger than you, but I have enough money on hand _now_ to start a foundation to make sure bears across the country are well-fed and protected." Olivia could see by now that Kristen and Jimmy were rolling their eyes at each other. She wasn't about to let it stop her, though. "At least, I think I will. Kristen, how many bears are there?"

Kristen's phone was out almost instantly. "Give me a minute."

The still-nameless puppy started wriggling in Stephen's arms. He put her down and got a tight grip on the leash, but she only darted as far as the edge of the path to squat in the grass. Stephen poked Jimmy. "You've got the plastic bags, right?"

"Yeah, they're in here somewhere." Jimmy started sifting through the pockets of his cargo shorts.

"Sidekick life, huh," remarked Kristen, still typing.

"You said it."

"Oh, come on," said Olivia. "You guys aren't our 'sidekicks'."

"Jimmy's totally my sidekick," put in Stephen.

"You're not helping."

"Wikipedia says, adding the species together, about one point one million," reported Kristen. "Not counting pandas. Are pandas real bears, or is that one of the things where they're just called bears without being in the same family?"

"Same family, different family, it doesn't matter. If they identify as bears, I'm going to judge them as such," declared Stephen. "That includes koala bears, honey bears, teddy bears, and leather bears."

"Okay, maybe I can't afford to fund all of them," admitted Olivia. "But I could definitely buy each of them a sandwich. And I will!"

"Look on the bright side," Jimmy advised the irate Stephen, handing him a plastic bag. "When it comes time to stage your fake breakup, you'll have a perfectly plausible reason."

 

~*~

 

Toward the end of their vacation, Papa was still discouraging him from traveling for anything not work-related, so Stephen was about to go relax in the back yard (and throw a tiny stick for the puppy) when he got the text from Jon.

 **Jon S.**  
History tutor just left. Last exam finished! Help me celebrate?

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
of course!

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
was just about to catch some rays

 **Stephen*Colbert**  
you can help me put on sunscreen :)

 

His thumb wavered over the Send button for that last one, then he gathered up his courage and went for it.

A few arrangements and what felt like an endless wait later, Stephen and Stephen's [Blank] of Hill Valley were there to greet Jon as his car rumbled up the driveway. His aunt was driving, which made Stephen wish he'd put on a shirt for this as they exchanged a brief hello.

Jon himself was in a T-shirt and swimsuit, and had a drawstring bag slung over his shoulder, presumably with something from the "actual pants" family in it. As they headed out back, he was alternately looking at anything other than Stephen, and practically licking Stephen's torso with his eyeballs.

The sunscreen was waiting where Stephen had left it, with his phone and the lemonade he'd gotten out, on a table between a couple of the pool chairs. ([Blank] was sprawled across the patio underneath one of said chairs, the sunlight that filtered through the semitranslucent fabric tinting her blue.) He stepped into the shade of the canvas umbrella and picked it up, making a halfhearted motion to hand it to Jon. "Do you, um, do you want to go first, or should I?"

Jon put down the bag and shrugged. His curls were getting long; a few locks fell out of the lackluster spray job he'd done on them and flopped across his forehead. "Listen, I am A-OK with touching going on in any direction, here."

Heart beating faster, Stephen weighed the options. "I burn very easily!" he announced at last, shoving the bottle in Jon's direction. "It's what comes of having a family tree that's mostly Pasty Irish. So you should probably do me first!"

"That's what she said," put in Jon reflexively.

Stephen paused in the middle of settling onto the chair he'd laid out flat earlier. "Jon, are you _trying_ to make me have second thoughts about stretching out all vulnerable and face-down in front of you?"

Jon held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry! I'll be good!"

So Stephen lay flat, and Jon sat on the beach chair next to him and squeezed out a zigzag of lotion that ran down his spine.

Jon's fingers were hesitant at first, then settled into a normal kind of rhythm, then — "Wow, are you usually this tense?" — started working the muscles while he was at it. Stephen let out a soft groan as the heels of Jon's hands dug into his shoulders, and Jon paused — "Was that good, or...?"

"Good," confirmed Stephen. The sun was beating down on them, but a shiver ran through him anyway. "Keep going."

Jon took his time. Stephen's legs were probably toasting while Jon dithered on his back, but right now he was okay with that.

He was all mellow and pleasantly tingly when Jon's slick fingers reached the base of his spine, only to tense up again when they slipped under the waistband of his suit. _It's nothing,_ he told himself frantically. _You're the one who invited him to put his hands on you in the first place — it's only natural he'd want to touch you there too. Besides, it's not like he's going to hurt you. Hasn't he shown that all he wants to do is make you feel good...?_

And then, for all his worries, it turned out to be _actually_ nothing. Jon's touch didn't slide more than an inch into Stephen's suit. Just enough to get the sunscreen and the fabric to overlap.

Stephen felt like an idiot.

"Legs now?" asked Jon. "Or can you do those on your own?"

He sounded sort of breathless. Now Stephen was just confused. "This _is_ turning you on, right?"

"Um," said Jon, withdrawing his hands. "I sort of thought that was a given. And, listen, if that bothers you, you probably shouldn't let me get at your legs."

"No, it's okay," said Stephen quickly. He was bothered by what Jon might do about it, but as long as that didn't come to pass outside of Stephen's paranoid imagination..."It's only natural for my...boyfriend to feel like that, right?"

For a second there, Jon didn't react to the word. Stephen held his breath.

Then — and obviously they couldn't start making out by the pool, you never knew who might be watching through a telescopic camera, or through the house's windows — but Jon kissed his fingertips and pressed them against the back of Stephen's neck, and it was about the most spine-meltingly hot thing anyone had ever done to him. Beat out being called _principessa_ by a mile.

"Yeah," said Jon. "That's a normal boyfriend thing."

 

~*~

 

The video clip from Olivia's last tour came to an end, and the overhead monitors switched back to a view of the _Tonight Show with Nick Carter_ set. In the guest's chair Olivia waited, grinning in appreciation, as the crowd finished clapping.

"Stunning performance, as usual," said the host. "Now, Lisa, there've been some controversial rumors that you were using a body double for parts of that tour. Do you want to address that?"

Olivia laughed it off like it was no big deal, which was easy to do because she'd gotten the list of questions in advance, and anything that might have been a big deal was quietly screened off before she started prepping. "Seriously, Nick, that whole thing got way overblown. I still do all my own songs and everything, right? But I have a bunch of costume changes in that show, and there's one that just can't be done in under five minutes, no matter how awesome my wardrobe people are. What are we supposed to do, leave everyone hanging for five minutes? That's longer than most of my songs!"

Sympathetic laughter from the audience, and the host agreed that yes, that was a ridiculous idea. The conversation moved on through other inconsequential topics, eventually bringing Nick to "That's a lovely ring you're wearing, by the way. Present from someone special, maybe?"

"What, this?" Olivia held up her hand, fanning out her fingers, and was glad the camera cut to a close-up on the ring because it meant nobody would get screencaps of her gritting her teeth. At least the actual design was pretty: sterling silver with a carved flower and a little sapphire set in the center. "No, this is more like a present from me to myself. You've heard of purity rings, right?"

She managed to roll out the stock description with perfect sincerity, and Nick, as per her appearance contract, held back on the just-barely-suggestive jokes he clearly wanted to make. And then they were going to commercial, and when they came back she could be done with the scripted banter and just _sing_ , already.

Well, almost.

"Tonight she'll be presenting her new single, He Could Be The One, now available on iTunes. Lisa Munn, everyone!"

"Actually, you know what?" said Olivia. "Let me change into something flashier. Give me a just a second."

She darted backstage, passing a woman who was clearly taller, older, and blonder, but wearing a terrible long black wig and a duplicate of the outfit Olivia was about to switch into. She didn't have time to catch the crowd's reaction to the gag; she had new clothes to throw on. A minute later the "double" was exclaiming that she'd forgotten something, and then Olivia was going past her the other way, heading for the mic.

 

~*~

 

Stephen stayed at the Dolce & Gabbana collection launch party as long as he possibly could. For one thing, his hair was artfully gelled into some gorgeous delicate waves, and he wanted to give the press as much opportunity to photograph that as possible. For another, the people! Matthew McConaughey spent five whole minutes talking to him. Stephen was starstruck.

Matt (Stephen called him Matt now. They were buddies) also maneuvered him into a quiet corridor and slipped him a small, opaque plastic bag. "Heard you've been under some stress lately," he said, with a conspiratorial wink. "Take this and relax with your friends some time, on me."

But in the end he couldn't avoid leaving it all behind and sliding into the limo with Ned.

Almost immediately there was a hand on his knee. "Hey, buddy, why the long face? Did I let you stay out too late?"

Stephen could feel himself shutting down. "I'm fine," he said, staring at the floor.

"You look pretty wiped out. Come here."

And Stephen found himself pulled into Ned's lap, sitting across Ned's legs with arms looped around his waist.

"See, this isn't so bad, is it?" soothed his manager. "No hard feelings, eh?"

Agreeing with everything seemed to be the fastest way to get this over with, so Stephen said, "No sir." Even though there were some unmistakable hard feelings pressing against his leg that very second.

"That's right. Say, how's your puppy doing? You come up with a name yet, or is she going to end up being called Blank for the rest of her life?"

Even in a position like this, Stephen couldn't help but be drawn out a little by the mention of his dog. "We decided to go back to basics and look at Disney princesses," he explained. "She's Briar Rose now. Officially registered and everything."

Ned's hand cupped the base of his skull, fingers threading through his hair. "Sounds exciting," he said, breathing softly against Stephen's neck.

 

~*~

 

Olivia's hair was still dripping from the shower as she pulled on her matching Tinkerbell pajama shorts and tank top. She was planning on taking a little personal time this evening, but saw her phone blinking and couldn't resist checking it first.

 

 **@LisaMunnOfficial**  
Confidential to #Munnsters: catch me performing on #TheTonightShow with #NickCarter 2nite 11:35 on #NBC!

 

One of these days Olivia was going to unfollow her own Twitter. It was good for keeping up with her media narrative, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could take the surreality of having things she hadn't written sent to her under her own name.

She put the stupid thing aside and curled up in bed, a towel thrown down on top of her pillow, to slip a hand between her legs.

The fantasy she pulled up was a well-worn and easy one. She was older, but instead of her actual life plan she was still doing music, belting out amazingly sexy songs and wearing super-tiny miniskirts while doing it. The crowd sometimes roared so loud she could barely hear her own band. They respected her, they admired her talent, _and_ they thought her legs and her waist and her small-but-perky bust were totally hot.

Real Olivia's fingers went in soft circles over the fabric, teasing herself, working things up slow.

Fantasy Olivia was heading backstage, riding high on adrenaline, and so stunning that of _course_ she got pounced on the way to her dressing room. A roadie, one of her executive assistants, whoever, the important thing was that they were already furiously making out as they fell through the door. Olivia kicked it closed behind her with one high-heeled foot before getting pushed up against the wall.

The whole lower half of real Olivia started filling up with heat. Yeah, that was nice.

Fantasy Olivia's paramour got a thigh between her legs and was grinding firmly against her ( _you were amazing out there, blew me away, here, let me show you how much_ ) (and this wasn't a groupie, either, it was someone who knew her, and really meant this), hands tugging her skirt up over the curves of her thighs. Black lacy lingerie waited underneath it, silky and taut against her skin. She threw her arms around strong shoulders for support and rolled her hips in answer.

Real Olivia's hand wandered beneath the cotton, slipping easily into warm, wet folds, sending a shudder through her, and another.

The lover in the fantasy hooked talented fingers around the high-cut waistband before sinking into a crouch, leaving firm kisses down her collarbone and bare midriff along the way. Black silk stretched and slid and pulled her calves briefly together before her feet (still in the heels) (bright red, of course) stepped out of them. And then there were hands on her hips, bracing her against the wall, and hot breath flowing over her...

...her phone chimed, the noise she'd set it to make when Kristen texted...

...Kristen's perfect coppery curls bobbed around her face as she flashed Olivia a wicked grin, tongue dipping in to trace the crease where Olivia's thigh met her body, making Olivia's hips snap forward in delicious frustration...

...and then it wasn't frustration any more, she was head-thrown-back whole-body-shaking _coming_ , leaving her sweaty and panting and oh god she was never going to be able to look Kristen in the eye again.

She sat up slowly, burying her slippery hand in the damp towel to clean it off.

With the other hand...she picked up her phone (texting didn't require eye contact, shut up) ( _say, Kristen keeps not looking me in the eye either_ ) (yeah, that's it, get your hopes up so you can get yourself crushed harder).

 

 **Kristen ಠ෴ಠ**  
FYI, stay away from your tag for a while! There's a bunch of #TeamJoJo fans out for blood.

 

"Oh, come _on_ ," said Olivia out loud. She appreciated Kristen letting her know when the Internet was unsafe, she really did (it was a system they'd started a year and a half ago, after a particularly horrifying manip of Olivia's head on some naked adult's body made the rounds), but if Kristen had just waited five minutes, it could have saved Olivia a hell of a lot of Confusing Lesbian Feelings.

For someone who was in a pretend relationship with a boy, and a gay one at that, you'd think she would be handling this better.

She debated not answering the text, but ended up typing on autopilot:

 

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Omg that was so last year! Joe has a new TV show now & everything.

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
TY 4 the heads-up tho.

 **Kristen ಠ෴ಠ**  
Sidekick duty accomplished :)

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Is that rly how u think of it?

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
b/c I just want 2 be BFFs, not have u be the sidekick :(

 **Kristen ಠ෴ಠ**  
It's just a joke because you play a superhero, honest!

 **Kristen ಠ෴ಠ**  
But if it bothers you I can stop saying it :)

 **Kristen ಠ෴ಠ**  
I just want to be BFFs too.

 

The unintentional double meaning of that one hit Olivia like a rock.

So that was that. She was having Confusing Lesbian Feelings, and she was going to have to deal with them alone, or maybe just take the Maddow route and repress them hard for a couple more years. Eventually her contract would be up, and she could come out on the cover of _People_ , flirt with all the ladies she wanted, and start appearing on red carpets in short hair and men's sport coats. (Well, maybe not that last part.)

Olivia realized she was pulling at her eyelashes. Been a while since _that_ little nervous tic had shown up. She sat on the offending hand and used the other to type _ok, was just worried, but np if ur only joking <3_, chewing furiously on her lip all the while.

Stephen didn't know how good he had it.


	15. All That Heaven Will Allow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Purity rings for everyone!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The song from the title](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SdJIpyiupJo) comes up a few times in-chapter.

Even Tucker, it turned out, could be a decent guy if there was a puppy involved.

They were relaxing in the group practice room during break, Jimmy and Stephen doing their usual thing at the grand piano, where Jimmy played whatever he felt like while Stephen turned pages for him and sometimes sang along. Briar Rose had been well-behaved all morning, which meant it was high time for playtime, and Tucker ended up playing tug-of-war with her using one of the toys Stephen had brought along.

Jon was on the couch with his phone, doing his habitual messing around on the Internet, though these days he wasn't so isolated about it. He was paying attention to what the other guys were up to, and would sometimes jump into the conversation, or be drawn in when Stephen yelled a question in his direction.

Jimmy's fingers on the keys had settled into a repeating loop of a thoughtful little rhythm; Stephen gave it a few measures, then jumped in. "Yet Robin Hooding isn't the solution / The powers that be must be undermined where they dwell / In a small exclusive gourmet institution / Where we overcharge the wealthy cliente~e~ele..."

" _RENT_ ," chimed in Jon. He'd added the soundtrack to his playlist, along with a dozen others, since his speedy elimination at their last musical-off.

Stephen broke off his singing to beam at Jon. "Right! Bonus round: what song was it from?"

"Uh," said Jon. He'd cut Stephen off right before the line "let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe," but he remembered it well enough. "I'm gonna say 'Santa Fe'."

"No!" crowed Stephen. "It was from the part of Finale A where they reprise the _motif_ of Santa Fe."

"But you're getting much better!" added Jimmy encouragingly. "At least you didn't guess it was from _Avenue Q_ this time!"

Stephen pulled the songbook they'd been working from off the piano stand. "Let's give him another. One of these," he said, presumably switching to a different book, though Jon could only see their heads from this angle.

"Ooh, good idea," said Jimmy. "Let's see. I've been working on this one...haven't started that one...."

"What about this one?"

"Hmm. Never tried it. Are you singing the melody? Because I could sight-read this if it's just the harmony."

While Jon was still trying to figure out what musical had songs Jimmy had never even tried to play (the _Book of Mormon_ sheet music wasn't even out yet, right?), the other two settled on a page to flip to, and Jimmy's hands settled into another background tune. This one was light, gentle, and instantly familiar.

"Oh, rain and storm and dark~ skies..." began Stephen.

" _Tunnel of Love_ ," said Jon automatically. He did want to hear Stephen sing more of it...but not until _after_ they'd established his Jedi-like mastery over all things Springsteen.

Stephen broke off, face falling. "What? No! It doesn't sound anything like Tunnel of Love. If you'd let me sing more than one line...."

"It isn't the _song_ Tunnel of Love," interrupted Jon. "Song title was the bonus round, right? The _song_ is All That Heaven Will Allow, from the _album Tunnel of Love_."

Stephen exchanged a look with Jimmy, then both of them looked back at the music. "It doesn't say the album title here," said Jimmy. "That could be it."

"And he got the song right," admitted Stephen.

Jon scoffed. "Yeah, and water is wet, and, news flash: the Pope is still Catholic."

"Tucker!" called Stephen. "Can you look it up for us?"

A beat later, Tucker looked up from brushing Briar Rose's fur. "Huh?"

One quick explanation and a google search later, Jon was vindicated and Stephen was sulking.

"You could sing more of the song, if you wanted," said Jon, trying to be encouraging.

"Why bother? You already got it!"

Mindful that they were in mixed company, Jon tried again. "I would...really like it...if you sang more."

Stephen let out a theatrical sigh. "All right, if you insist. Jimmy, hit it."

Jimmy obligingly set his fingers to the keys.

And when Stephen started singing, he was right back in the smooth, tender cant the song called for, not a pout to be heard. "Oh, rain and storm and dark~ skies / Well now they don't mean a thing," he crooned. "If you got a girl that loves you~ / And who wants to wear your ring / So c'mon mister trouble / We'll make it through you some~how / We'll fill this house with all the love / Mmm, all that heaven will allow..."

 

~*~

_Halfway across the country, at a mid-sized arena in Oregon._

"Think I'm really falling for his smile / Get butterflies when he says~ my~ name~," chorused Olivia, throwing in one of her trademark hair-flips. "I can hardly breathe / Something's telling me, telling me~ / Maybe he could be the one!"

The audience — all kids from the contest-winning school and their guests, most of whom could probably never have afforded to get in the door of her usual concerts — went wild. The crowd was sprinkled with Lisa Munn hats, T-shirts, and, in at least a few cases, Star Girl cowls. As far as she could tell, the guys in attendance didn't have quite as much of her swag, but they weren't cheering any less.

She added a couple of winks into her routine. It was a love song (or at least, a crush song); Mac couldn't get on her case for playing it flirty.

Her voice soared through the last chorus and fell with the band's closing notes, and she struck a pose, flanked by her backup dancers, as the cheers began.

"Give it up for my dancers!" she shouted into the mic, flinging out a hand to encompass them. "And my amazing band!"

More cheers. At this point, they would have given it up for carbon dioxide emissions if she'd asked them to.

Not that she would do that. "And give it up for yourselves! The students of Flatpoint Middle School organized the recycling of over 8,000 pounds of material, saving more than 27,000 pounds of carbon dioxide! Woohoo!"

She'd had the numbers confirmed in the few hours between her plane touching down and her stage getting set up. Hey, as long as they had them by showtime.

(For the sake of her own sanity, she refused to ask anyone how many pounds of carbon dioxide were released into the air by her charter flights every year.)

"Now I'm going to turn the floor over to our lovely stage manager Don to handle the Q&A. Take it away, Don!"

There was a mic at the front of the center aisle, and Don got people to form an orderly line behind it, while one of his assistants — Maggie? The one who tripped a lot, anyway — brought Olivia a chair. She got comfortable quickly, and started fielding excited questions about what kind of makeup she liked ("you don't need makeup to look beautiful, but it just so happens I'm coming out with a line of simple, affordable products designed to let your natural beauty shine through"), how an ordinary kid like the querent could become a pop star ("work hard, go to lots of auditions, and never let anyone tell you the odds"), and what her favorite type of pie was ("all of them").

The first really tricky one came when a baby-faced young man with a football player's build said, "Lisa, I heard you have mostly guy friends. Is that true? And are you, like, just one of the guys with them?"

Well, great. Nobody had given Olivia the rundown on this particular demo. Did she have a thriving male fanbase she was supposed to nurture? And if so, how did she do that without alienating all the tween girls who loved her as a model of girliness?

An internal voice that sounded suspiciously Kristen-like added, _Why should you be nurturing dudes anyway? If they like you as you are, let 'em, but don't go babying them so they'll feel better about it._

Out loud, she said, "Listen, my best friends in the world are girls. My sister, my BFF Kristen...that's Kristen Schaal, she plays Sadie on the show..." She paused for the smattering of claps and cheers. "And yeah, I have a bunch of guy friends. But why would that make me one of the guys? Why not say that they're each like just one of the girls with me?" She grinned. "Especially —"

— and bit that one off just in time, because saying _especially Stephen_ was _so_ not in line with their PR strategy.

But now she was leaving an awkward pause, and that wasn't good either. "Especially when we're all watching Disney princess movies and painting each other's nails," she finished, with a wink. There. Let 'em stew on that, try to guess whether she was kidding or not.

Don subtly moved the guy away, clearing space for the questions of whether she had any bad habits (after some hesitation, she admitted to pulling out her eyelashes when stressed), what her favorite song to sing was ("right now, it's one of the ones that's going to be on my next album — can't say any more yet, it's a secret, but keep an ear out for it!"), and whether she had started dating Stephen Col-bert before or after they kissed for the movie (this, she knew by rote, thanks to Mac making her memorize an entire whiteboard's worth of diagrams on the timeline of their fauxmance: "after, but," sheepishly, "I had a little crush on him already when it happened").

Then a girl with ash-blonde hair and braces said, "I just want to say that I find it really empowering that you're wearing a purity ring in public. It makes me feel like I can stand up and say I'm proud to be a Christian."

"Uh, thanks," said Olivia unconvincingly. This girl was wearing a Team Jesus T-shirt, for crying out loud, and Olivia would have bet anything she hadn't just run out and bought it two weeks ago. "Everyone deserves to feel good about who they are."

The kid broke into a starry-eyed grin — which made Olivia feel sort of bad, sensing how much this twelve-year-old's soul would be crushed if she knew how little her idol thought of her right now. "Thank you! Thank you so much! My question is, is your boyfriend also going to get one? Because saving yourself until you're sure of your one true partner in Christ isn't just for girls."

Good god (no pun intended), it was like meeting an alternate-universe fundamentalist version of Kristen. Olivia sent up a quick prayer that, if Anyone was listening, He/She would guide this child into growing out of the weird judgmental-victim thing she was projecting. "Don't worry, he's getting one. We are totally on the same page about that. And very into respecting each other's wishes — take note, boys, because that's how you get a relationship to work."

 

~*~

_Back in LA, the next morning._

"This is the stupidest idea," said Jon, pushing the catalog back across the table.

Stephen, who had been about to point out some gold cross-embossed rings that he thought were particularly stylish, held his own catalog defensively against his chest.

(The "purity" factor only applied to sex; he didn't _think_ kissing and touching were also ruled out. Although maybe he could convince Ned that they still counted. And either way, maybe Ned could be held off by a tangible object more effectively than by words alone....)

Brian, who had just passed the things out, took it in stride. "I realize many of them are explicitly Christian, but they have a strong selection of neutral options, as well as several with Hebrew script. We checked."

"Listen, just because the company used Google Translate on one of their slogans...." Jon shook his head. "It's not even the Christian thing. Like, if these were Christian let's-feed-the-poor rings, and then the profit went to food banks or whatever, I could be okay with that. But these things? They're so...."

"...self-righteous, and _not_ in the way you like?" supplied Tucker.

"Jon, they don't have to mean anything that isn't already in our conscience clauses," said Jimmy, trying to be helpful. "And you've already signed that. So what else is this going to do?"

"Nobody's trying to sell conscience clauses to everyone in the country at the cost of...." Jon slid the catalog towards him again and flipped it open. "...upwards of a thousand bucks a pop."

Tucker set down his own catalog, pages folded over. "Dibs on the XR0340 design."

"Duly noted." Brian made a quick note on his tablet. "The rest of you better steer clear of that model...." He eyed the entry that popped up on his screen. "...although I can see that won't be a problem for Jon. By the way, Jon, they do have ten-dollar options."

"It's not about the price either! The whole idea is messed up!"

Stephen's gaze snapped up from even the shiniest of the rings. "You think it's _messed up_ not to want to have sex before marriage?" he demanded.

Jon backed down in a hurry. "That's not what I said."

"Really? Because it sure sounded like it!"

Jimmy put a calming hand on Stephen's arm. "I think what Jon is _trying_ to say is that it isn't necessarily a principle he would live by himself. Although I'm sure he would respect his partner if she did!"

"And _I_ think he's just afraid the ring will make it harder to sneak around his conscience clause," said Tucker. "Got your eye on any girl in particular, Stewart?"

"Yes, Jon," echoed Stephen icily. "Who do you have your eye on?"

"Gentlemen, please," interrupted Brian, saving a red-faced Jon from any further interrogation. "You all deserve to be respected for your own romantic choices, and are free to make them as you wish...as soon as your contracts are up. Stephen, Jimmy, figure out what rings you want. Jon, we'll talk in a bit. Understood?"

"You know what, forget I said anything," muttered Jon, head down. He grabbed his catalog from the table, roughly enough to tear a few pages. "What page are the cheap plain ones on?"

 

~*~

 

When only Jon answered his invitation to an afternoon out on the _Small Wonder_ , with no Stephen or Jimmy in evidence, Olivia knew right away that something was up. She shooed Kristen and Wyatt belowdecks for a bit (Wyatt tried to demur, but Kristen was very convincing), and dragged the whole story out of him.

"...and then he tried to get one of the thousand-dollar ones, just to show me," groaned Jon in conclusion, collapsing back onto his chair.

"That's rough," said Olivia sympathetically. "Should we make margaritas? You sound like you need one."

"Maybe later."

"Suit yourself. What was that ring like, anyway? I mean, was it worth the grand?"

Jon shrugged. "It was gold inlaid with diamonds, so I assume so. Jimmy talked him into some sterling silver thing instead. Listen, can you help me out here? With your...you know...." He gestured vaguely in the direction of his brain, or at least his head.

"With my...?" prompted Olivia. "Are you getting at feminine intuition or Japanese wiles, because I need to know how offended to be, here."

"What? Neither!" spluttered Jon. "I'm getting at your being _smart_ , and understanding _Stephen_ , occasionally about things even Jimmy misses. ...Besides, you're not even Japanese!"

Olivia shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. You basically called your boyfriend an idiot for not having sex with you. That's kinda hard to walk back."

"But that's not what I meant!" wailed Jon. "He can do what he wants! It's the stuff that comes with making it an institution...the judgment, the creepy sexism...and the idea that we have to go pandering to it anyway. Most of the country would be just fine either way. I bet you most of the Christians don't even care that much! And yeah, there are people who enshrine their own values as global moral standards and are going to shun anyone who doesn't fall in line. But those are rare, and they should be scorned, and we definitely shouldn't be egging them on because some corporations have figured out they can make a quick buck off of it!"

Okay, now it was beginning to come together. "No, I'm following you," Olivia assured him. "That's legit."

Jon ran his hands through his hair. "And if I try to explain it to Stephen like _that_ , he'll accuse me of wanting to undermine the free market."

"Yeah, probably." Olivia thought it over. "So skip the economics and just focus on the creepiness. And you know who could really help you on this one? Kristen."

Jon grimaced.

He covered it quickly, but not quickly enough. "What's wrong with Kristen?" demanded Olivia.

"Nothing! Nothing at all. It's just. She doesn't seem very...serious."

"Maybe not in general. But about, like, sexism and all things related? She's deadly serious."

"She convinced Wyatt to go help her out belowdecks by screeching 'war on women!' at the top of her lungs."

And now Olivia was mad all over again. "She can camouflage it very well!" she snapped. "It doesn't mean she doesn't know what she's talking about when it counts! If you actually paid attention to her like I do —"

"I'm sorry, okay?" said Jon, holding up his hands in surrender. "I swear, I didn't mean to put down your...your...."

"The term you're looking for is 'BFF'," said Olivia stiffly.

"Uh-huh." Now Jon was giving her a curious, appraising look that she didn't like at all. "Well, I —"

He froze, eyes fixed on a point over her shoulder. The volume of his voice cut to almost nothing.

"Hey, I thought you said Wyatt would be downstairs."

"What?" Olivia whipped around and followed his gaze. There was a familiar shadow poking out from behind the corner of the cabin, and when she squinted she got a glimpse of dark fluff. "Wyatt!" she yelled, jumping up. "What are you...?"

The words were barely out of her mouth when she realized her mistake.

"It's cool!" she called back to Jon. "It's just the puppet."

Jon bopped his ear with the heel of his hand. "Sorry, I thought I just heard you say 'the puppet'."

The head of the real Wyatt popped out of the hatch that led to belowdecks. Now that he didn't have regular filming to keep up with, he was getting a bit of fluff along his chin to match the hair. "Was that for me?" he asked. "Can we come back up now?"

There was a yelp from behind Olivia: Jon had followed her over, and gotten his first sight of Wyatt's felt doppelganger.

"Just switching places," Olivia told Wyatt. She patted a still-shaking Jon on the arm. "Sit tight, Stewart, while I go retrieve your soon-to-be guardian angel of articulate stances on feminist issues. And then, Wyatt, you and me are making margaritas."

 

~*~

 

Shout*For didn't have to be in and out of the dressing room at the studio now that they weren't filming, which made it a handy place for Jon to get a private moment with Stephen after practice.

"This had better be because you want to apologize," said Stephen, arms crossed. "You're On Notice again, by the way."

"Duly noted," said Jon. "Can you listen a bit, though, before I get to it?"

Stephen just glared at him.

"Here's the thing." Jon ran his hands through his hair, trying to get his thoughts in order. "Imagine for a minute that we only meet when we're older. The band never happened, or maybe someone else got the break I did, but eventually I do get into show business, and then we're both in our thirties and we meet each other at a benefit. Or we get cast on the same TV show. Anything like that. And we're both single, and we hit it off, but here's the thing: I've had, y'know...partners. Because ending up a thirty-year-old virgin is really not in my life plan. Would that make you any less okay with going out with me?"

Stephen's face worked, and for a couple of heart-stopping seconds Jon thought he was going to decide that yes, that would be a dealbreaker. Instead he said, "Grown-up you still likes me the best, though, right?"

Jon blinked. "Well, yeah."

"Oh. Okay. In that case, I...I wouldn't mind."

"And if, for whatever reason, grown-up you had changed your mind about the whole sex thing since you were fifteen...."

"Sixteen," interrupted Stephen. "I'm not going to change my mind before next week, Jon."

"Sixteen, then. The point is, grown-up me couldn't care less. And it would probably come off as really creepy and possessive if I did. But these people and their rings, this whole purity culture...it's all built on the idea that you _have_ to care. That it's an absolute moral standard, and anyone who doesn't fall in line is corrupted, is ruined, gets to be judged and shamed and looked down on. That's what's messed up. That's what really hurts people. I didn't even know, the scope of it...Kristen showed me some websites," he explained, suddenly self-conscious. "This one blogger was talking about how she...when she was a teenager, she'd been, um. Forced."

He stumbled on the non-explicit word choice, knowing full well how often innuendo went right over Stephen's head. From the way Stephen's mouth tightened, though, he'd taken Jon's meaning here.

"So she went to someone at her church, I think the youth pastor — looking for some support, some reassurance — but she started by just admitting something sexual had happened. And then when the girl managed to get out that she hadn't wanted it, this lady was _relieved_. Because at least she could still claim _purity_." For a moment, righteous indignation pushed him through his discomfort with the topic. "The fuck kind of priorities are those, huh? 'Sure, sweetheart, you got raped, and that must've been rough, but thank god you didn't have loving, consensual sex with someone you cared about!'"

The blood had drained from Stephen's face. Jon forcibly reined himself in. Righteous or not, this was a lot of heavy stuff to be throwing at someone, especially when Stephen had probably never really thought about...assault, before now.

"So that's what I was mad about," he finished.

Stephen gulped hard. "I just wanted a pretty ring," he said weakly.

Jon caught his breath. "Oh — no, Stephen, I didn't mean — babe, c'mere." He folded a shaking Stephen into a hug. "I'm not saying it makes you responsible for — listen, one boy band isn't going to make or break that mindset either way. We don't have _that_ much influence. We really don't."

Voice muffled against Jon's shoulder, Stephen said, "You promise?"

"Hand to heart," said Jon, rubbing his back.

Stephen sniffled. "They're not gonna let us out of wearing them. PR's already put out the talking points. And my fake girlfriend's already got one, so if I don't...."

"Yeah, but Olivia's is just a generic nice ring." (She'd explained that to Jon on the _Small Wonder_ , cracking up like it was the best joke she'd ever heard. That had been about two margaritas in.) "I bet Brian would let us get away with that. Return the rings from Madonna-Whore Complex Incorporated, or whatever that catalog was from, and get a few that are classy but secular. Tucker probably won't go for it, but the rest of us could."

If they couldn't fix the messaging part of it, they could at least change where the cash went. Hell, with all the money they got from teenage girls, the least they could do was avoid turning around and sending it to companies that were built on kicking teenage girls in the face.

"Tucker definitely won't go for it." Stephen sounded like he was beginning to recover. "The model he got has Not Ashamed Of The Gospel Of Christ engraved on it in capslock."

"Ah," said Jon. "Yeah, I can't see him trading that in."

"But Jimmy would switch if I asked in the name of our friendship. We'll have to work really hard on getting him a worthy replacement, that's all. The model he found was perfect. Had a design of piano keys." He pulled back, hands now linked over Jon's shoulders, while Jon's fell to rest on his hips. "And there are tons of rings I want anyway, so that part'll be easy. What about you? What design did you end up getting?"

"I, uh...don't even remember," admitted Jon. "I picked the cheapest plain one and didn't really look at it. Seriously, I'm not a ring person. PR can just grab any random thing off Amazon and I'll manage."

Stephen chewed on his lip for a minute. "Jon?"

"Hm?"

"Can I...." A blush rose on Stephen's cheeks. "...pick yours out?"

Jon started. Then he thought about it. That was...unexpectedly intimate. But.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, okay, you can do that."

And then:

"Wait, what do piano keys have to do with purity culture?"

 

~*~

 

The shipments must have arrived staggered, especially since Tucker's had been ordered earliest without being returned; but Brian held out on them until Friday, when he opened the morning meeting by passing them all out.

They'd found Jimmy a ring with a musical staff etched on it, not much different from his earlier choice, except without 'Sing Praises to the Lord' engraved on the inside. Stephen managed to land a double row of tiny diamonds, in a sterling silver band wide enough to count as masculine, even while being wonderfully sparkly.

Jon was still picking at the packaging after Stephen had ripped his own open and gotten the ring on, so he leaned eagerly over Jon's shoulder. "What did you pick out? Is it nice?"

(It was subtle deception like this that kept their relationship protected.)

"Settle down, I'm working on it." At last Jon lifted the little jewelry box out of the padding made up of tissue paper and the warranty information, and flipped it open.

It was a nice sturdy tungsten band, silvery and metallic, inlaid with a lightly textured strip of blue carbon. "Wow!" exclaimed Stephen. "I bet that brings out your eyes!"

"I bet it will," agreed Jon, starting to slip it on.

"Wait!"

"...huh?"

Stephen froze, on the verge of revealing that he knew more about the ring than Jon did.

"Is there an engraving on the inside?" put in Jimmy. "Stephen might want to see that."

"Oh! Right," said Jon, pulling it off again and turning it so the interior caught the light. "Yeah, um, as you can see, it says...."

The deftly etched phrase _All That Heaven Will Allow_ glinted back at them.

"Talk about a one-track mind," muttered Tucker, leaning in to read it.

"Hey, this is very personally meaningful to me," snapped Jon, sliding it on again and studying the way it sat as he curled his fingers. "And you know what? I am going to feel happy and fulfilled about wearing it."


	16. Give The Girl A Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen has a birthday and a concert, Olivia has a stumble and a revelation, and Tina just has really awkward timing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus art: [Portrait of Jon and "Stephen"](http://sailorptah.deviantart.com/art/Shout-For-And-then-they-make-out-387497966) (with the new dye job).

Stephen's first sweet-sixteen present — aside from the deluge of celebratory tweets, wall posts, gifsets, and YouTube videos from fans — was the dye job he'd been wanting for years. The stylist politely demurred from putting any streaks in Briar Rose's fur, but allowed her to sit next to him during the process, and gave her fur some professional brushing while the color was setting.

From the salon Papa picked him up and took him to the tuxedo fitting. That was more discouraging, since Papa disapproved of all the sparkliest accessories. But he finally got a pair of acceptable-if-plain gold cufflinks that went with his purity ring, and a nice burgundy tie with thin gold stripes, which made him feel like a particularly formal Gryffindor.

The puppy went home after that, but the rest of them were off to the concert!

Stephen didn't even care that Ned was riding over with them. It wasn't like Ned would do anything when Papa was _right there_. Except hold Stephen in place for a tie adjustment, linger on straightening his lapels, and brush some stray dog fur off his pants, all of which was downright tolerable.

"Now, remember, son, this isn't a gift, it's a promotional event," Papa told him as they approached the concert hall. "You need to be on your most professional behavior at all times. Be affectionate with your date, but don't do anything embarrassing...at least, not when the cameras are on you."

"Yes, sir," said Stephen.

No matter how Papa presented it, you couldn't not feel gifted when you were attending a concert featuring Alan Menken, selected scenes from Disney stage musicals, one of the up-and-coming teen girl stars the network was trying to promote (a New Zealand import named Jaquie Brown, who seemed talented enough, though obviously she was never going to outshine Olivia), _and_ a special guest appearance by former Mad Tea Party lead Bill O'Reilly. The fact that Stephen got to preen for photographs and cutaways throughout, without even having to do anything himself, was icing on the cake.

Speaking of which..."But when we get together and have cake afterward, that's just for me, right?"

Ned answered this one. "Buddy, we talked about this. There's a photographer coming along to get shots of the new line of Shout*For party supplies in action. You need to make sure you're eating photogenically." He chucked Stephen lightly on the chin. "No getting caught with cream all over your face."

Stephen held himself as still as possible. "No, sir."

Now he couldn't wait to get out of the car. Especially since they were close enough to hear the hopeful cheering.

The noise jumped several decibels when Stephen's door swung open, and he stepped out onto the red carpet that had been rolled out for the guests of honor. Killer was already there, ready to shield Stephen from the throng of fans crammed up against the velvet ropes on either side of him, dazzling him with applause and camera flashes. Some of them might have paid the couple hundred dollars to get seats inside; others were just hoping to get a sight of one of their favorite stars on the way in.

Stephen didn't let them down. Such adoration deserved to be rewarded, after all. He stuck his hand in an inside pocket of the tuxedo and came out with a fistful of I ♥ Shout*For rubber wristbands (a portion of the sales went to charity; Stephen forgot which one). Flinging these into the crowd on either side kicked off waves of shrieks and leaping and scuffles as people fought to get one.

At the last minute dropped into a crouch and offered the last one to a tiny girl of maybe seven or eight right against at the ropes, who had been clinging to a Shout*For tote bag with one hand and her mother with the other. Face-to-face with Stephen himself, her eyes about popped out of her head, reflecting the flashbulbs going off on all sides of them.

Stephen beamed at her until she got up the courage to take the wristband, then rose and gave the crowd one last wave...

...and stopped short, because Olivia was waiting for him at the entrance, and she was _stunning_.

She was in a deep blue floor-length gown, not strapless but definitely more shoulder-baring than anything the Mouse had let her be seen in before, with a necklace of silver and pale blue stones that matched her ring. Her dark hair was swept back to reveal silver earrings, and it was all accented by bright pink lipstick that Stephen really didn't want to risk messing up by kissing.

"This is not fair," said Stephen in an undertone as he stepped up to meet her. "You're not supposed to upstage me at my own party."

"Aw, is it hard not being the pretty one?" teased Olivia. She dropped a quick, minty kiss on his mouth — her lipstick came out intact, thank goodness — and linked her arm through his. "C'mon, let's knock some socks off."

 

~*~

 

For once, Jon was grateful for Shout*For's enforced "oh, the boys are just like a family!" public hanging-out. It meant that even though Stephen's birthday concert was purportedly a date with Olivia, they were still going to watch from the same VIP balcony as the rest of the band.

Jon had invited Kristen to be his plus-one, thinking mostly of how best to keep Olivia company. Jimmy brought Tina, and although she was initially taken aback by some bawdy joke Kristen made, a few minutes later the two of them were getting on like a house on fire. After stumbling on a shared interest in politics, they settled into a vigorous debate over which _Daily Show_ correspondent was the hottest, which didn't seem to require any of the guys' input.

Tucker's companion, a striking blonde wearing a cross necklace, stayed out of it too. She didn't seem to be getting over being put off by Kristen. She did manage a bit of small talk with Jimmy, from which Jon learned that her name was Gretchen and she was some kind of serious violin prodigy. No wonder Tucker liked her. Girl was downright highbrow.

Stephen and Olivia were the last to show up. They were arm-in-arm and flanked by parents, specifically Stephen's father and Olivia's mother: all together, a shining beacon of heterosexual American family values.

Some part of Jon's brain registered that Olivia looked fabulous. The rest of him was busy being distracted by Stephen: whose dark hair was now tipped with blond in the front, and who was wearing that tux like he'd been sculpted as the model for it.

Judging by a certain hitch in Stephen's voice as he greeted them, he didn't think the suit Jon had been stuffed into was hanging too badly, either.

The selection of adults was rounded out by their two bodyguards and Stephen's manager. Killer and Lonny did their usual trick of melting into the background, but Ned was in finest overly-touchy form. He praised Gretchen's jewelry and Tucker's suit with a hand on each of their shoulders; he touched Jon's cheek when he asked whether Jon wasn't shaving yet; and he ran his fingers through Tina's loose waves of hair. "This is really something, sweetheart. Have you ever thought about dyeing it?" he asked. "Maybe something to match Stephen's? You two look remarkably alike, you know."

"We do not!" snapped Stephen. To Jon's surprise, he got between the two and practically shoved a startled Tina back into her seat. "Enough chitchat. Let's get into place so this thing can start, already."

 

~*~

 

Olivia still wasn't gutsy enough to do her normal "roll out a couple of shocking lines to test the new people" routine in front of her mother. Not to mention, she was pretty sure the weight of Stephen's father's disapproval would make their balcony collapse. So she trusted Kristen's assurance that Tina was cool, and Gretchen maybe less so.

The first half of the concert went beautifully. The crowd below them was in a great mood, especially when the big screens over the stage cut to Stephen and friends; the performers were in fine form, especially O'Reilly, who had made a smooth transition in the past ten years from generic teen pop to a country-rock hybrid that combined shouty anger with being terminally catchy. When the lights went up on him, Stephen nearly hyperventilated, gripping Olivia's arm so hard it was going to leave marks.

...That could make some interesting tabloid fodder later.

She was scheduled to be whisked away after intermission to do a surprise set of her own (a round of He Could Be The One, not explicitly dedicated to Stephen, but with some serious winking and nudging in that direction). At least they left her enough time to stretch her legs beforehand.

The VIP balcony was connected to a VIP corridor, a couple of VIP bathrooms, and a VIP bar. The latter drew away Olivia's mother, Mr. Col-bert, and Ned; Olivia spared a few moments to look longingly after them before disappearing into the ladies' room to check her makeup.

It was the kind of restroom with a carpeted entryway, filled out by little couches and lit by an honest-to-goodness chandelier. Olivia's heels clicked on tile once she got far enough in. She stood in front of the mirror, adjusted her necklace, rifled through her clutch for lipstick.

"Everything okay in here?"

Olivia almost dropped her lipstick down a sink. "Hey, no fair sneaking up on me!"

Kristen had followed her as far as the edge of the carpet, where she was standing in stocking feet, heeled shoes dangling from one hand. Instead of her usual wide-skirted party dresses, she was wearing a figure-hugging flapper-inspired number, dazzling with patterns of sparkly silver sequins. With wide-eyed innocence, she replied, "But how else am I supposed to catch you in the act?"

"There is no 'act'," huffed Olivia. She held open the clutch again, picking through it. "Look: tissues, falsies, my phone, tampons, compact, lipstick. There's no room in this stupid thing for a nip of vodka. You want to come over and see?"

This was sort of cheating, since the last thing she'd done before leaving the house was finish off a bottle she'd been working through. But it was enough to settle Kristen. "No, I'll manage," she said, waving the offer away with her shoe-holding hand. "These things are a bear to walk in anyway."

"It isn't that hard! You just have to get the hang of them." Olivia had worn heels to so many awards shows it was second nature by now. Snapping her clutch shut, she sashayed over to the entryway and dropped the little purse on one of the couches. "Here, I'll show you. Sit down for a second...but put those back on ASAP. When you take them off your feet swell, and that makes any pain even worse when you put 'em back on."

Kristen looked horrified. "I _knew_ there was a sinister agenda in these patriarchal standards of beauty!"

"Well, geez, if you decide they're not worth it, you never have to wear 'em again. Just at least make sure it's an informed decision, you know?"

So Kristen took a seat and slipped back into the heels, then let her feet relax with the weight off them while Olivia gave her a practical demonstration. Small steps, legs close together, heel-toe, keep your knees straight. She herself had mastered turning the walk into a sashay, but that was a varsity-level skill; Kristen had better stick to the more modest goal of moving forward and not falling over.

"Now you try." She offered Kristen her hand. "Come on, you can lean on me."

Both their growth spurts had leveled off at some point during the past year, so it was looking like Olivia was never going to make up those last couple inches between them without some sartorial help. And with Kristen in shoes of the same size, that help came to nothing, putting them at relative heights where Kristen could sling her arm over Olivia's shoulders with no trouble.

"Baby steps," Olivia repeated, as they aimed forward. "Heel-toe...careful!" she added, when Kristen came down at a weird angle and both of them wobbled. "There, now you're getting it! Want to speed it up a little?"

"Ugh," muttered Kristen, but she matched Olivia's pace as it kicked up a notch, and then another. Longer strides, more confident...

...until she came down slantwise again and her whole body went yawing away from Olivia's.

Without thinking, Olivia yanked them back in the other direction. And maybe her own balance was more precarious than she'd realized, or maybe she just overshot the force required, because all she got for it was the two of them going down like a rock in the opposite direction, Olivia's skull clipping one of the chairs on the way.

"Ow," she croaked, flat on her back with Kristen on top of her.

"Omigosh!" squeaked Kristen, pushing herself up on her elbows just enough to take the weight off Olivia's body. Her wide-eyed face filled most of Olivia's field of vision. "Are you okay?"

There was a sharp ache at the back of Olivia's head, she could feel that a bunch of her hairdo had come loose and undone, and she'd had the breath half knocked out of her, but other than that? "Yep," she panted. "Peachy. Carpet's real soft. You?"

"I'm fine, but I was _cushioned!_ " Kristen's hand came up to sweep a stray lock of hair from Olivia's face...

...fingers brushing slowly across Olivia's cheek, lips slightly parted, and either the bump on the head was making Olivia delirious or she might have to re-evaluate everything she'd thought about what Kristen might...

...there was a swish and a brief burst of chatter from the corridor, and an awkward yelp from not far past Olivia's feet.

"Sorry!" cried the embarrassed voice of Tina. "Didn't mean to interrupt!"

She backed out of the room in a flash. Kristen was on her feet (and out of her shoes) again seconds later. She didn't offer Olivia a helping hand, so Olivia had to hoist herself off the ground, careful not to catch the chair again on the way up. "Well. Uh. That was...."

"...a hilarious misunderstanding!" finished Kristen, voice even higher than usual. "Hey, listen, you should probably head out. I bet Mac's looking for you right now! Don't worry about me, I've got this walking thing covered!" She grabbed her discarded shoes and scuttled back a couple of steps. "See? ...You can get up okay, right?"

Olivia grabbed her clutch and straightened. "Don't worry, I'm...on top of it."

They swept out into the corridor together without another word, to find Tina practically hopping. In a stage whisper Kristen advised her, "Should've bolted the other way."

"I'll remember that for next time!" squeaked Tina, and all but ran into the ladies' room.

Before Olivia could come up with anything that was actually intelligent to say to Kristen, Mac's voice cut across the VIP corridor. "Olivia! There you are! What on Earth did you do to your hair?"

"It can be artfully tousled!" said Olivia, and threw one last anxious look back at an unreadable Kristen before allowing Mac to drag her off toward the dressing rooms.

 

~*~

 

The next day found Stephen at a get-together at Olivia's, where apparently — much to Jimmy's delight — Tina had gotten herself onto the regular invite list. They were hanging around the pool, along with Kristen, Wyatt, and Steve, while Stephen took Briar Rose out front and waited for Jon to arrive.

At last the familiar car pulled up...and the wrong door swung open, revealing that Jon was the one behind the wheel. "You can drive?" breathed Stephen as he got out.

"I can learner's permit," corrected Jon, looking almost embarrassed at Stephen's awe. His aunt was coming around from the passenger side; she exchanged a brief hello with Stephen (who now wished he'd put a shirt on for this) before taking the keys. "It isn't that exciting. I'm not late, am I?"

"You're right on time." Stephen called Briar Rose over from the rosebush she'd been sniffing; she bounded happily back to his side. "And it is totally exciting, what are you talking about."

"Well, I'm not allowed to do anything without a Licensed Adult In The Car At All Times," said Jon, accompanying him around the side of the Munn mansion. "So it's not like I can go driving us off to Makeout Point or anything. And I know it's embarrassingly overdue, but I haven't exactly had a lot of time for lessons...."

"But you don't need to learn at all. We have people for that," pointed out Stephen. "So it's amazingly hot that you're doing it anyway."

"Oh," stammered Jon. "Well. That's definitely motivation."

A choked noise made them both start.

Another step and they'd cleared the corner of the house, to find Tina and Jimmy just a few feet down the patio. The pair had been carrying soda and ice cream, respectively, down to the pool; Tina tried to hide her face with the oversized soda bottles. "I didn't hear anything!"

Stephen looked instinctively to Jimmy, who nodded at Tina and flashed a thumbs-up. _She's cool._ He turned to Jon, who squeezed his hand; scanned the rest of the yard to make sure everyone else was safely off by the water; and said, "This is super top secret information, Tina Fey. Understand?"

"I figured," groaned Tina. "It's my curse."

Stephen wasn't sure what that meant, so he ignored it. "Well, Jon's my real boyfriend. Only a couple of our best friends know. And now you, but that's okay! You can be an honorary Best Friend of mine, on account of being Jimmy's Best Lady Friend. Just don't talk about it around anyone else, okay? Except Olivia and Kristen, obviously they know, because..."

"...you're double-bearding," finished Tina, cheeks red under her glasses. "I get it, I get it."

Now she was being confusing in a way that got Stephen's attention. "What do you mean, 'double'?"

 

~*~

 

Kristen had co-opted the floating pool chair (with Steve and Wyatt using a beach ball to play an informal game of volleyball over her head), so Olivia stuck to the sidelines, hiding behind oversized sunglasses and a frozen margarita.

She'd invited the rest of them mostly to have an easy excuse to draw Kristen over, but was stalling on the part where she confronted Kristen alone, and still hadn't figured out what the hell to say when she did. The alcohol was...really not helping on that count, either.

Her dithering was cut short when Jon and Stephen appeared on the chairs on either side of her, both staring her down.

"Okay, Olivia, be straight with us," said Stephen sternly.

"For a given value of 'straight'," added Jon.

"Do you, or do you not, have a thing going on with Kristen?"

"No," said Olivia morosely. "No thing."

"You're sure," said Stephen.

"Because, don't take this the wrong way, but you kinda talk about her the way I sometimes can't help talking about Stephen," explained Jon.

"And we heard something involving the two of you alone in a compromising position," added Stephen.

"You two have got to stop doing that," said Olivia. "It's creepy."

"What?" said Stephen.

"Finishing each other's sentences?" suggested Jon.

"Like you're always doing with Kristen?" concluded Stephen.

Olivia brandished her drink. "I will throw this at you," she slurred. "One of you. Then get another glass an' throw it at the other."

The guys shut up, but the way they sat back and waited in expectant silence was almost worse.

"I don't know," moaned Olivia at last. "Like, one minute I think we're having _moments_ , and then she's all, ooh, I just heart being your BFF, but then she falls on top of me, which was a total accident, by the way, and suddenly there's _looking_ and _touching_ except a second later she can't back off fast enough, and, and, I don't understand any of this!"

"So...if she was interested, you would be all over that?" asked Stephen.

In the lowest voice possible, Olivia admitted, "Uh-huh."

"Have you mentioned that to her?" suggested Jon.

Olivia slumped even lower in her deck chair. "Dunno how."

The other two exchanged Meaningful Looks.

Then Stephen sat up straighter, tossed his hair, and crooned, "There is one way to a~ask her... / It don't take a word, not a single word, go on and... / Kiss the girl!"

Jon took up the thread, on a different melody. "Ain't written in the sky above~ / No fortune-teller told me this~ / You gotta tell her that you love her / Tell her that you need her / And give the girl a great big kiss."

A wave of Stephen's hand encompassed the pool, including Kristen down at the far end. "Now's your mo~ment / Floating in a blue lagoon! / But, girl you better do it soon / No time will be be~et~ter...."

"Now if you're such a fool you think / It don't matter, baby, what you say / Maybe you better tell her how you're feelin'," sang Jon. "Ain't gonna happen any other way...."

"Shala lala lala don't be scared! / You got the mood prepared, go on and~ / kiss the girl!" warbled Stephen. "Shala lala lala don't stop now! / Don't try to hide it how / you wanna kiss~ the~ gi~irl~!"

"Shut up, shut up, I'm going!" wailed Olivia.

She didn't actually think she was going to do it, until she realized she was standing up.

Heat wafted up from the tiles under her flip-flops as she slapped her way to the edge of the pool. A swan-dive got her into the deep end; the cold water shocked her halfway back to sobriety, and she broke the surface with a gasp, shoving a curtain of wet hair out of her face. Kristen was still on the floating chair, not far off, the beach ball soaring back and forth over her head.

Olivia kicked and paddled in her direction.

"Give it a rest for a second, guys," she ordered Wyatt, who caught the ball and obediently kicked himself backward through the water. Her feet touched down; she grabbed for the side of the blown-up plastic. "Hey, you! C'mere."

Kristen still had a cute striped skater skirt on over her bikini, but the stability of her seat was all of a sudden compromised, so she let herself get pulled down into the water. "What —?"

Then Olivia's arms were flung around her shoulders, and Olivia's mouth was on hers.

It wasn't Olivia's first kiss. First not-for-a-part kiss, though, yeah. And while some of those for-a-part kisses had been pretty good, objectively speaking, none of them had come with this particular berry chapstick, or a mass of thick curls to tangle her wet fingers through, or this soft, plush boob-squish situation they had going on...

...or Kristen's soft hands cupping her face, gently but firmly pushing her back. "You are _so_ drunk."

Olivia's face fell into her best pout. "Only a little drunk!"

"Uh-huh," said Kristen cheerfully, patting her on the cheek. "Well, I'm pretty sure all the guys here are taken or not your type or both, so maybe save it for another party, mmkay?"

"...bwuh?"

Her grasp had loosened enough in confusion for Kristen to slip easily out of it. "And now this thing is kinda soaked," she said sheepishly, getting a double handful of the fabric of the skirt as it billowed in the chlorine-saturated water. "Can I go grab something from your closet to wear while it dries?"

"Um," said Olivia, her fogged brain latching on to the one question that made sense. "Sure. Go ahead."

"Thanks!" chirped Kristen, and then she was past Olivia, heading for the edge.

 

~*~

 

Olivia stayed underwater for so long that Jon was starting to wonder if someone ought to go down there after her. At last her head and shoulders popped up at the lip of the pool nearest him and Stephen. "You guys _suck!_ "

Jon had no arguments. He kind of wanted the earth to open up and swallow him out of pure sympathy embarrassment. Stephen, though, sank into a crouch in front of Olivia. "What exactly did she say?"

"She talked like I was doing the whole thing for _your_ benefit," moaned Olivia. "I mean, not yours personally, obviously, but the rest of the guys!"

"Then you have to go after her!" declared Stephen.

"Are you insane?!"

Stephen was undeterred. "You have to get her to say exactly what she means! If you go making assumptions, you can end up convinced that someone doesn't like you, when in fact they secretly want to kiss you very badly! Trust me, I know!"

Olivia chewed on her lip for a second, then hefted herself out of the pool, making Stephen skitter backwards in a hurry. "Fine," she muttered. "But if this just makes things worse, I'm strangling you with one of your own ties."

And she cut a dripping path back toward the house, grabbing a towel along the way.

A soft cough alerted Jon and Stephen to the fact that Wyatt had come up behind them. (Steve, Jimmy, and Tina were all keeping to a polite distance.) "Hey, uh, I don't know what you guys said to her," he began, "and I have been trying to stay out of this, because, you know, girl drama...but if you can convince them to quit dancing around each other and start making out already, you will be my new heroes."

 

~*~

 

Kristen was sitting cross-legged on Olivia's bed — not looking at clothes at all, just staring at the pattern on the sheets. Olivia, towel saronged around her waist, stopped in the doorway.

"That wasn't for any dude's benefit," she said flatly. "You know that, right?"

She took Kristen's almost-inaudable huff as an affirmative.

"And it wasn't because I've had a couple margaritas, either. I am way into you sober. And if you want me to start getting over that, you've gotta say to my face that you're not interested."

Kristen made a face like a particularly sad kitten macro. "We _can't._ "

Another response that Olivia had totally not prepared for. "What are you talking about?" she demanded. "It's working fine for Jon and Stephen! And don't say they're under less media scrutiny than I am, because it's not _that_ much less."

"The difference is that they're both under it!" burst out Kristen. "They're on the same level. They're in the same _band!_ And you're up there too, you've got talent coming out your ears, and you're not going to peak at fifteen, either. Ten years from now you're gonna be a super- _duper_ -star. I'm gonna make a living. You're gonna make _millions_."

Olivia took a couple of steps in. "Are you seriously saying you don't think you're talented enough for me?"

"I'm not talented enough to follow you!" shot back Kristen. "You're already out of town as much as you're here! I don't play an instrument, I'm not gonna land a spot as one of your backup dancers, I'm never gonna have a steady thing in movies — let's face it, the market for 'quirky' is way narrower than the market for 'hot' —"

"I'd take you with me!" exclaimed Olivia. What good were all those buckets of money if she couldn't? "Anywhere you wanted."

"For the next couple years, the company wouldn't let you! Not to mention my _parents_ wouldn't let you."

"I could tour less," countered Olivia, moving forward again. "I can say I won't do any more movies for now. There's a ton of ways I can stay home more without messing up my contract."

"That is not in the plan!" Kristen thumped her hand against the bedspread. "You're going to do everything they let you get at, show off all the skills you have and learn the ones you don't, and then when this contract's up you're going to transition your image, cut your hair, do some weird indie movies and some sexy-but-tasteful photoshoots, and then get back to knocking out an EGOT. There is no part of the plan that involves kicking the whole thing off the rails to have a secret romance with the weird girl who lucked into getting cast with you on your terrible teen TV show!"

Olivia covered the last few steps and threw herself into Kristen's arms, clasping her in a damp embrace. This time Kristen didn't back off or push them apart, just buried her face in Olivia's shoulder and shuddered against her.

She wasn't used to this. Kristen was supposed to be the secure one, the calm buffer for Olivia's moodiness and well-hidden insecurities, deceptively silly but always reliable when it counted. If she was the one freaking out, what could Olivia possibly do about it?

"Can't we just...try?" she pleaded against Kristen's wet curls. "We're already long-distance BFFs half the time. What's it gonna hurt to add some tongue action to it?"

There was a murmur of discontent against her neck.

"And if you really can't stand it...then we either call the whole thing a failed experiment or I start walking stuff back. Not too far!" she added, before Kristen could protest. "I'm not gonna kill my dreams over you. I swear I'm not. But they were never...I mean, I never wanted to have the world's most flawless career if it meant not also having a life."

Kristen had stopped shivering. Olivia held her breath.

Closing her eyes, she said, "I kind of love you, you know."

Her BFF let out something between a laugh and a sob. "How come you always make it so I don't want to say no to you?"

Olivia swallowed. In a rush she said, "If you were my girlfriend I would let you push me around sometimes."

To her immense relief, now Kristen was outright giggling. "Oh, god, I think I read this in a fanfiction once."

Olivia gave her a light shove. "You're not supposed to tell me about those!"

"Well, it wasn't about _us_ , obviously," said Kristen, then blurted, "Okay let's do it."

Yanking back just far enough to gaze into Kristen's watery blue eyes, Olivia lit up. "Seriously?"

"Uh-huh."

"So can I kiss you again?"

Kristen raised her eyebrows. "Was there a version of this deal where you didn't?"

With a delighted squeal, Olivia peppered Kristen's jaw with a bunch of quick kisses before going for the big one.

This time Kristen was giving as good as she got. There was tongue. It was _awesome_.

When this one broke off, more because they needed to come up for air than anything else, Kristen panted, "You know, your back yard is full of people who are probably taking bets on whether we're doing this."

"So you're saying maybe we shouldn't do it much longer," deduced Olivia.

"Pretty much."

They looked at each other.

"Just one more," said Olivia.

"Can't hurt," said Kristen, and leaned back in.


	17. My Best Was Never Good Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes juggle their developing relationships, professional demands, private traumas, a less-than-ideal discovery, and, in Jon's case, some fake yogurt.

**Jon S.**  
I don't believe this, Olivia!

 **Jon S.**  
I get keeping things under wraps for professional reasons but how could you not tell me this one?

 **Jon S.**  
Does our friendship mean nothing to you??

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
whoa there slow down boo

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
what r u talking about?

 **Jon S.**  
Your next album tracklist obvs!!!!

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Ok slow down a second

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
U know Im not doin the ACTUAL Born To Run, y/y??

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
its just a completely diff song that is TITLED Born To Run

 **Jon S.**  
Wtf?

 **Jon S.**  
Is that even legal??

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Yea boo Im pretty sure 3-word titles are not (c)able

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Also me singing about how desperately I want 2 leave this toxic town while Im still young is pbly not good PR

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Sry 2 burst ur bubble.

 **Jon S.**  
What's next?? a completely new song that just happens to be titled Dark Side of the Moon? or Bridge Over Troubled Water? or Don't Stop Believin'?

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
isnt Walking on Sunshine on ur tracklist?

 **Jon S.**  
Yes! because it's a cover of the ACTUAL Walking On Sunshine!

 

If Olivia texted a reply, Jon was called down to wardrobe before he could catch it. They were filming a commercial today: a loudly branded kind of yogurt that soon all the kids were going to be wanting in their school lunches. Apparently this required them all to be in color-coordinated shirts.

"Olivia's doing a song called Born To Run that isn't a cover of the real Born To Run," Jon informed the others when they were lined up in front of the mirrors, a makeup tech teasing his hair.

"Of course it isn't," said Stephen matter-of-factly. "She would've let you in on it if she was doing a Springsteen cover."

"That's what she told me," admitted Jon.

Tucker, eyes closed while his tech worked on the foundation around them, said, "Isn't Born To Run the one that's, like, half motorcycle sex metaphors?"

Jon groaned. "Okay, okay, you don't have to rub it in!"

At last they were ushered out to the set, a fake kitchen with surprisingly nice tan wood paneling. There was some kind of argument going on among the camera people, briefly leaving the band alone with the stack of yogurt cups. Jon picked one up to get a sense of the heft: they were filled with something more solid than actual yogurt (unless it had gone _really_ disgusting), but about the same weight.

Stephen and Jimmy were into a deep discussion of something that by the sound of it was Pixar-related. Jon snagged two more of the fake yogurt cups and took their measure for a second, then tossed one, two, three into the air.

It had been a while since he'd practiced. There was a bag of hackey sacks somewhere in his room, untouched for months, probably long buried under other stuff by now. But it wasn't so hard to get back in the rhythm when you only had three. Throw over, pass under, throw/pass, throw/pass, throw/pass....

"Hey! You there!'

Jon flailed, caught one, missed the other two. They landed on the linoleum with soft thumps. "Sorry!" he said, trying not to panic. "Sorry, I didn't mean to...they're not gonna be broken, are they?"

"Forget the fake yogurts, kid! We've got a million of 'em," said the director, a sharp-faced woman in thick hipster glasses. "Could you do that again?"

"Sure," stammered Jon. "You mean, like, right now?"

"I mean when the cameras are rolling! How many can you handle at once?"

One thing led to another, and soon they were doing takes for a clip in which Jon juggled the fake cups while his bandmates looked on, grinning. It didn't have to last long; only a few seconds would end up in the montage, between shots of them messing with their instruments and shots of them enthusiastically dipping up spoonfuls of the product. Tucker's grin was kind of strained, and someone must have noticed: after the first take they angled him away from the camera for this bit. Jimmy had no problem looking excited.

And Stephen...he looked downright enraptured. "Why didn't you tell anyone you could do that?" he asked after take three, while a woman moved between the four of them dabbing sweat from strategic parts of their faces.

"I did!" protested Jon. "There was this big questionnaire thing about other skills I might have when the band first hired me, and I put it on there. Nobody ever asked about it, so I figured they'd decided it wasn't important."

"Uh-huh," said Stephen. "You probably wrote something like 'amateur juggling' or 'really terrible juggling', didn't you."

Jon honestly couldn't remember what he'd written at this point. He shrugged. "Barely keeping four things in the air _is_ amateur juggling."

"It's still a skill I don't have!" said Stephen earnestly. "Don't you know how rare that is?"

"Oh dear god," muttered Tucker.

For once, it was a reasonable level of exasperation, so Jon resisted the twin impulses to defend his boyfriend and to snap at Tucker on general principle. "Hey, as long as you can turn that enthusiasm on Strawberry-Banana Swirl, we're good to go."

 

~*~

 

"Hey, Col-bert! Over here a second."

Stephen was already barefoot and shirtless, but he obligingly hung back with Tucker while Jimmy and Jon went for the showers. "What is it?"

Tucker waited until at least one of them had started the water running, then said, in a low voice, "What's the deal with you and Stewart?"

"D-deal?" stammered Stephen. Very convincingly, he thought.

"Yes, the _deal_. You keep staring at the guy like every stupid little thing he does is the equivalent of landing on the moon. And you're the one who picked out his ring, aren't you?"

"Jon is sadly deficient in fashion sense," said Stephen stiffly. "It was only natural for him to delegate. And you're just mutually biased against recognizing anything the other does as talented."

Tucker crossed his arms. "Even if that's true, it doesn't mean you're not biased in favor of anything that might get you into his pants."

"I am not —!" yelped Stephen. He cut himself off when the noise started Briar Rose, who had been napping on her blanket where he'd tethered her during the shoot, and sat on the couch beside her to calm her with some skritching. To Tucker he hissed. "I don't know about you, but I take my purity ring very seriously."

"Would you stop evading me for a second and figure out that I'm on your side?"

Stephen blinked. He would've thought Tucker would be against anything that made Jon happy as a matter of course. "Really?"

"Yes! I want to make sure nothing gets the band in trouble. And that's what you want too, right? The last thing I want is for anyone in the press to get their claws into whatever," he made a face, "non-yogurt-related fruit-on-the-bottom activities you may or may not have going on. Ergo: your side."

"Okay, you have a point there," said Stephen. The puppy rolled languidly over, head bopping against his leg. He rewarded her cuteness with a belly rub.

"That's better." Tucker sank into the adjacent squishy armchair and started getting his shoes off. "So: You've decided you have...a crush, or something like that, on Stewart?"

"...Something like that."

"And have you mentioned this to him at all?"

"It may have come up."

"Uh-huh. And judging by the lack of dramatic sobbing around here lately, I take it he didn't turn you down. Is he stringing you along for the gifts and adoration, or are we talking mutual something-like-that territory?"

"Will you excuse me for a minute?" said Stephen in a high voice, and made a run for the showers.

Jon's towel and a grey T-shirt were tossed over the outer door of the leftmost stall. Stephen knocked on the frosted glass. "What is it?" called Jon over the water.

"Jon, can I talk to you?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"I mean without yelling!" yelled Stephen.

There was a rustling of plastic, and the latch on the door jiggled.

Stephen leaned through the door into the cubicle where Jon's clothes were piled, braced against the tile-and-cement frame. Across from him, Jon was holding the shower curtain in place so that only his hand and expectant face were visible. There was shampoo in his hair, and water running down his chin; thanks to the hues of the curtain and the checkerboarded tiles, his eyes shone very blue, even in the shadow.

"Tucker wants to know if you reciprocate my crush or if you're stringing me along," Stephen informed him.

Jon gaped. "He _what?_ "

"It's okay!" said Stephen quickly, and laid out Tucker's the-band-comes-first policy.

"Well, that's something, at least," muttered Jon. "Listen, why don't you go ahead and blow his narrow little mind...."

So Stephen returned to the main dressing room, made himself comfortable next to his dog, and said, "Jon would like you to know that he's the one who came on to me first."

There was a gratifying pause while Tucker processed that one.

Eventually, though, he sighed and went back to unbuttoning his shirt. "Well, that just makes this all the more important: Don't go screwing this up, Col-bert."

Stephen couldn't believe this. "Are you...being _protective?_ Of _Jon?_ "

"I'm being aware that Jon is not the problem!" exclaimed Tucker. When Stephen stared blankly at him, he elaborated. "Look, Col-bert, I'm not saying this to be mean, but...you're a flake, all right? One day you think Stewart's a pretentious antisocial jerk, then he's one of your precious BFFs, then he's a traitor you're not speaking to, and now, what, you're in love with him? I mean, it's a miracle this band hasn't had more drama than it can handle already. Fling a couple of broken hearts into the mix, and we'll never get anything done again. So don't screw this up. When you feel the urge to dump him, clamp down on it until the rest of us have one foot safely out the door."

 

~*~

 

Jon rinsed out his hair and jumped still-drippy into his clothes as fast as he ever had.

Not quite fast enough, it turned out. Stephen was coming his way again as he got out, lips pressed into a tight line. "Is everything okay?" asked Jon in a hushed voice.

"Fine!" said Stephen, brushing past him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to wash my hair."

Tucker was nearing the end of his methodical undressing when Jon faced him across the room. "Just so you know, if I find out you've said anything to upset him, I'm punching your lights out. The band's worth a hell of a lot less to me than he is."

"Uh-huh," said Tucker. "Is that supposed to scare me? You're about eight inches shorter than I am."

"You ever watch any nature documentaries, Carlson? The littlest one is always the meanest sunuvabitch," snapped Jon. "Besides, I came here from Jersey. You came here from KidzBop. Do the math."

The silence hung between them for an unsettlingly long moment. Jon's skin started to prickle as it dried.

"You really should've left the schoolyard threats back where you came from," said Tucker at last, casual as ever. "I know there are people out there who find gratuitous violence sexy, but somehow I don't think your boyfriend is one of them."

 

~*~

_A later evening, in heavy LA traffic._

Stephen was having very vivid fantasies about car crashes.

It wasn't likely to happen, given the agonizing crawl they were moving at. It could be hours before he made it home. Ned had all the time he could possibly want to keep Stephen pinned against the window.

They were on the way back from an awards show — one that Stephen attended in the capacity of a guest presenter, not a nominee, which was his least favorite capacity to be in. He'd paid enough attention to get that all the categories were Internet-based, and had dutifully read his bit from the teleprompter before presenting Best Fan Blog to some site called Montana Nation. Very offensive, in his opinion. This was the America Nation, and with proper sponsorship he might make allowances for something like the Mazda Nation, but no individual state should be getting full of itself like that.

Also, no manager should be getting handsy with Stephen's thighs like this. Apparently it was just not Stephen's night.

Ned was mouthing at his neck again in the bargain, and not as gently as he'd done the last time they were alone together. If he left marks, Stephen was going to...okay, do nothing, but he was definitely going to fantasize even _harder_ about the far window exploding inward from an impact and sending a dozen jagged shards into the man's back.

The image had the bonus of rewarding Stephen for not fighting, of making it a brilliant strategy to lie flat and do nothing with Ned practically on top of him. He'd be protected from the explosion. He wouldn't get a scratch.

When Ned's attentions worked up to his jawline, Stephen broke with the do-nothing strategy in favor of squirming just enough to get his mouth out of the way.

All he got for his trouble was a disappointed hiss. "Come on, buddy, lighten up. All I want is a kiss," admonished Ned...and one of his hands found the front of Stephen's pants, stroking him lightly through the fabric. For the first time in his life, Stephen wished he wasn't _quite_ so ballsy.

The message was crystal clear. Give the man what he wants, or he'll take something else instead.

Stephen forced himself back to the more relaxed position...but Ned's posture didn't change. No scratchy goatee pressed against Stephen's mouth; the hand on his junk didn't retreat.

"Y-you can do what you want," said Stephen plaintively. "So _do_ it."

"Told you I want a kiss," purred Ned. "So how about it, sweetheart? You going to give me one or not?"

Stephen nearly choked.

The fingers on his pants caressed a fraction more firmly.

 _Suck it up, Col-bert,_ Stephen ordered himself, and pressed a soft, quick, closedmouthed kiss to the corner of Ned's lips.

The man sighed, as if disappointed, but his hand arced its way back to the outside of Stephen's hip. "Such a sweet little thing you are sometimes, you know that?" he said fondly.

The words came on autopilot. "Yes, sir."

As Ned started grinding rhythmically against his leg, Stephen squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on the bright side: with his manager's pants still on, at least none of _Stephen's_ clothes were going to get ruined tonight.

 

~*~

_A later-still afternoon, at the Col-bert mansion._

"I got a feelin' that you could be feelin' / A whole lot better than you feel today," sang Tina, a bright, peppy tune that made Olivia sit up straighter and quit playing with Kristen's curls. "You say you got a problem...well, that's no problem! / It's super easy not to feel that way / When you start to get confused because of thoughts in your head / Don't feel those feelings — hold them in instead! / Turn 'em off! / Like a light switch — just go 'bap'! / Really, what's so hard about that? / Turn it off!"

Their little core team of six (plus the dog) had gathered at Stephen's house, lounging on the beanbags in the home theater and working through a musical-theater-off. Only Kristen had opted not to play, and spent the time chilling with her phone in hand and her head in Olivia's lap, 

Of the rest of them, Olivia had already knocked Jimmy out. Jon was still in the game, but only because Stephen was blatantly going easy on him. And Tina had so far kept up with everything Jon threw at her, but since he was still kind of an amateur, Olivia hadn't figured her to be a heavyweight.

Until now.

"You swear that's a real thing?" demanded Olivia. "From an actual musical? Like, on stage and everything?"

Tina broke into a toothy grin. "Does that mean you don't know it?"

"I didn't say that! Sing it again."

Tina did. It didn't help. Olivia was drawing a complete blank.

"I give up," she said, more awed than disappointed. "You got me. I yield."

"I did it!" squealed Tina, clapping her hands. Jimmy gave her a high-five.

Olivia twirled a lock of Kristen's coppery hair around her fingers. "You better be looking that up."

"Already on it."

If Stephen was similarly baffled, he hid it quickly, giving Jon a stanza from _Newsies_ that Jon guessed in seconds. Jon followed it up with _Hairspray_ , which was similarly easy for Tina. And then it was Tina up against Stephen. "Same song. Do you want me to sing it again?"

"Of course! That's the rule!" snapped Stephen.

Tina did. The original earnestness of the lyrics was breaking down into hilarity with every repetition.

When she finished, Stephen stared at her in silence for a long moment, eyes wide and unnervingly dark.

"You don't know it either," realized Jon, breaking into a slow smile.

Stephen's lip started wobbling.

In a hushed voice, Kristen informed Olivia, "Google isn't finding the lyrics."

Picking up on the words, Stephen cried out, in a watery voice, "Cheating is not allowed, Tina Fey!"

"I am not either cheating, Stephen Col-bert!"

"I demand arbitration! Tell Jimmy what it is, and if _he_ says it's legitimate, I will accept it!"

"Deal!"

So Tina disappeared with Jimmy into the hall for a couple of seconds. When they came back, Jimmy shot Stephen a look of pure apology. "Sorry, Stephen...she's got you here."

"No!" wailed Stephen, and with a sob buried his face in Jon's chest.

"Hey, shh, it's okay," said Jon awkwardly. He scanned the group as if waiting for someone to call them out, visibly realized that nobody was going to, and let himself start stroking his boyfriend's hair. "Oh, man, is it my turn? Is it down to just us?"

"Yep," said Olivia. "So good luck with that."

"Gee, thanks." Jon turned to Tina. "Listen, this is awkward, but...I'm hitting the limit of my song repertoire, here. Give me a minute to come up with something that isn't really obvious. Like, 'memories, all alone in the moonlight' levels of obvious."

"I see," said Tina, beaming and not even trying to tone it down. "What if we make a deal? You don't have to think up any more songs, you just have to guess mine. And if you get it, you win."

Stephen withdrew from hiding in Jon's shirt just enough to sniffle, "That is not in the rules."

"Sounds reasonable to me," said Kristen. "It's not like they couldn't do it under the regular rules anyway — Tina could just throw her next turn if Jon got it."

"Besides," added Olivia, "it's not really in the rules to keep your boyfriend in the game by softballing him every time, either."

With a harrumph, Stephen went back to hiding.

"You know what? I'll take this deal." Jon settled into rubbing Stephen's back. "You don't have to sing it again yet, just let me think it through, okay?"

"Sure thing."

And then they were all gazing expectantly at Jon. If the room hadn't been carpeted, you could've heard a pin drop.

"Olivia and Stephen don't know it by ear, and Kristen can't find it online," said Jon slowly. "That last one could just be because you misspoke the lyrics a little, but that doesn't explain the first two. It could be really obscure...but Jimmy knew it was legit right away, and, no offense, Jimmy, but for you to recognize something that neither of those two have heard of? Not likely."

Jimmy shrugged, unbothered. Sometimes he was almost Wyatt-like in his zen. "That's fair."

"So, maybe it's some in-jokey thing you two both know from when you worked together," continued Jon. "Or maybe...it's something so _new_ that the lyrics and music aren't out there yet. We could all have heard of it, but only people who've seen it onstage would know what it sounds like."

Olivia sucked in a breath. Now that he laid it out like that, it seemed so obvious. Why had she just given up after realizing the song wasn't in her memory banks, instead of stopping to _think_ about it?

"It's a comedy." Jon's voice was gaining confidence. "I'd put money on it being a religious satire. Not to mention, the tone of it would fit right in on _South Park_. Is it _The Book of Mormon_?"

The second he said it, Jimmy started clapping. The room descended into chaos as everyone wanted to either yell at Jon or congratulate him or both, and Briar Rose got so overexcited she started barking and running in circle. Stephen just wrapped himself around Jon like a spider monkey and made little keening noises of desperation.

Olivia gave Jon a mostly-celebratory slap on the back, then ruffled Stephen's neatly-parted hair out of place. "Dude, you have to relax. I hate him a little too right now, but you can't win 'em all."

"I don't hate Jon at all!" wailed Stephen. "But Tina Fey is my new archnemesis!"

 

~*~

 

 **Kristen (•_•) ( •_•) >⌐■-■ (⌐■_■)**  
Hey bro! JSYK, there's officially a rumor now that we're dating. So if you ever want to officially fake date so we can go on fake double dates that are also real double dates, call me.

 **Jon S.**  
My head hurts a little now.

 **Kristen (•_•) ( •_•) >⌐■-■ (⌐■_■)**  
Yo dawg I herd u liek dates so I got a date with ur date's date so u can date while u date.

 **Jon S.**  
I was thinking more Dateception.

 **Jon S.**  
~We need to go deeper.~

 **Kristen (•_•) ( •_•) >⌐■-■ (⌐■_■)**  
Haha yes that too.

 **Jon S.**  
TY for the offer. If Stephen's ok with it I will keep it in mind :)

 

"Who are you texting?" asked Stephen as he came back from shooing Briar Rose downstairs. With the door shut behind him, it was just the two of them alone in Stephen's room. Good deal.

"Just Kristen." Jon put the phone aside, sat back against Stephen's headboard, and outlined the double-double-bearding suggestion. "I'm not wild about it, but maybe it's the most convenient way to handle things, and if you don't mind..." (Stephen made a pained face.) "You mind. Got it. Okay, we'll table that for now."

The phone buzzed again. Jon took one last look, and sent _ok, will do_ as a reply.

"Also, we're supposed to stay out of your Tumblr tag for a while," he reported. "And to not ask why."

"Why?" said Stephen instantly.

In spite of his better judgment, Jon found himself getting walked through the steps of looking at a tag (all he'd ever tried to do on Tumblr was follow unicorngirl18's posts; this was unfamiliar territory), on the condition that Stephen promised not to look unless Jon told him it was okay. Soon he found himself scrolling past publicity shots of Stephen run through half a dozen Photoshop filters, a YouTube video of their RDMA performance earlier this year, a gifset compiling Stephen's various dance moves...

...and, oh. Oh dear.

"Well?" demanded Stephen.

Jon winced and scrolled faster. Yeah, there was another. And another. Different ones, too. Someone, or maybe multiple someones, had taken the infamously leaked banana photo and decided it would be hilarious to photoshop a wide variety of naked penises into the then-fifteen-year-old's mouth.

It wasn't _fair_. Jon backbuttoned hard out of the page, gritting his teeth. Even if they could keep Stephen from personally finding out about it, it wasn't fair that people were allowed to do this to him. _And if it wasn't for my stupid mistake, they wouldn't be able to...._

"Kristen's right," he told Stephen sharply. "Listen, don't worry about it, okay? Come over here and, ah," he flashed his best over-the-top seductive grin, "let me distract you."

He was rewarded with a really adorable blush, and Stephen paused only long enough to hide the gold ring in a jewelry box (Jon's hadn't even come with him) before cuddling up to his side. Jon tucked a lock of blond-streaked hair out of Stephen's face and was just going for the kiss when there was a scratching outside the door.

Well, if the dog had to go out, she had to go out. Jon was the superior being, here; he could wait a few minutes, secure in the knowledge that Stephen would be right back.

But when Stephen opened the door for her, Briar Rose trotted inside, and flopped down on Stephen's Lord of the Rings throw to make herself at home.

"C'mon, princess, this room is about to be no place for a dog your age," groaned Jon.

"I'm sure she'll be good!" countered Stephen, following the puppy over and rubbing her ears. "You'll be real quiet and well-behaved, won't you, sweetie?"

"She'll probably start barking at us," said Jon. "Or get bored and go try to eat one of your fish."

"She will not! She understands that fish are friends, not food," said Stephen solemnly. Before Jon could tweak him for quoting a non-Disney animated film, he added, "And if we shut her out and she's begging to come in, and Papa or Consuela notices...."

"...that would be bad," finished Jon. They'd have to work on conditioning the puppy out of it. Some other time, though. Right now Jon really, really wanted to get back to making out with Stephen. "Guess I'll just have to start learning how to work with an audience."

Stephen snuggled up to him again, one hand falling possessively over his chest. "It isn't hard once you get used to it!"

"Uh-huh," said Jon dryly. "Should I be jealous of how easily you kiss people?"

He was only teasing, but it must have hit a nerve. "No!" yelled Stephen, fists closing around handfuls of Jon's T-shirt. "No, you should _not_ , because I love _you!_ "

They both froze. Stephen's chin was trembling. Jon's heart had started to race.

"Hey," he said softly, tracing the curve of Stephen's cheek. "Hey, I was kidding, okay? I'm not jealous of anything. I don't have to be. I know."

"Well, good!" cried Stephen, and hauled him into a kiss.

It was fierce, possessive, desperate — so Jon didn't try to be gentle in return, teeth sinking into Stephen's bottom lip, one hand twisting roughly in his hair. All questions of L-words aside, he wanted to shake into Stephen's bones the knowledge and security that Jon adored him, and believed in him, and wasn't about to give him up for anything.


	18. Two Hearts In True Waltz Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our main couples make beautiful music together. Sometimes, that's even literal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Musical accompaniments: [Charlene (I'm Right Behind You)](http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/59061/february-09-2006/charlene--i-m-right-behind-you-); [percussion on glass](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJtRgiOdnIc); Jimmy [changes genres](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QmjxFswPKvg), [rewrites lyrics](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kZdU14rHBU) (start at 1:45), and has a [Presidents' Day song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y22M5HfBrmY); [Two Hearts](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VXippD94u3M).

_Star Girl studio, one month later._

"Will says you're doing a lovely job with all the songs, so we're going to spend the morning trying to put the first one together with the dance routine," said Mac, tapping the corresponding bullet point on her whiteboard. "Right after lunch you're getting a ride to the KRCK FM studio to do that interview. It'll be fairly freeform, but I'd like to spend a few minutes going over the central questions just to...to...Olivia?"

"Hm?" said Olivia. She'd been listening; she just didn't usually get asked for her opinion at this stage. "All that sounds fine, sure."

"Yes, yes," said Mac distractedly. "About that bruise...on your neck...."

Uh-oh. Olivia had known she wouldn't be on film today, so she hadn't looked at herself in the mirror this morning. No makeup, just the false eyelashes she could practically put on in her sleep by now. "I...walked into a door. Neck-first."

"Oh. Well, I suppose that's..." Mac caught herself, frowning. "...wildly improbable, isn't it."

"Maggie did it last week," pointed out Olivia.

"Maggie has a condition," said Mac. "At least, we all assume she does. I suppose it's too much to hope for that this marking was the result of young Mr. Col-bert's attentions?"

Olivia tried to break into her most winning sheepish grin. "Will it make you feel better if I say yes?"

Her manager sighed. "You realize, of course, that if you were to be...spotted...in, shall we say, intimate circumstances with another person, it would be a severe blow to your career? The public is rather unforgiving of women who stray." A distracted shimmer appeared in her eyes. "Not without reason! It's one of the most cruel, unthinking mistakes one person can perpetrate on another, and it is entirely unfair to expect someone to forgive you for it, even at the expense of a harmonious working environment, even if it was three years ago and you're both supposedly in happy relationships with other people and...."

Sometimes Mac could keep this up for half an hour straight. If Olivia just let her talk, she'd probably fill enough time that they'd be behind schedule and have to rush to start working on non-hickey-related activities.

"...and that is not relevant right now!" exclaimed Mac suddenly, shaking herself. "Olivia, if there's anything going on that might become a serious situation, I need to know."

Olivia gaped. The _one time_ Mac was able to put her romantic drama aside, and it had to be now?

Mac folded her arms. "I'm waiting. I can wait all day if necessary."

"It's no big deal!" groaned Olivia. "Look, you got a handle on things after Stephen got kissed in public, right? And let's face it, I'm way more discreet than he is. If somehow there does end up being a rumor or whatever, we've already got the fake Munnbert thing in full swing, so you can just have us heterosexual it up that much more and we'll be fine."

"I really don't think...." Mac paused again. "Olivia? Is the 'door' you 'walked into' by any chance another girl?"

Oops. Olivia sat up straighter and made her face professionally blank. "I have no comment on the gender identity of the alleged door."

"Not that there would be anything wrong with that!" her manager hastened to add, waving her hands. "On a personal level, I think it's wonderful! It's just that, well. Both of you? Really?"

"Mac. Calm down," said Olivia, uncharacteristically embarrassed. "I'm not gay. Okay?"

"Aren't you?" echoed Mac, looking relieved. "Well, good! That's lovely too."

"So if we could just move on? Because I see a couple more things on the whiteboard there."

"Yes, I suppose that would be best," said Mac at last. "Now, when you get back from the radio interview...."

 

~*~

 

Stephen poured out the last heartfelt syllable in one long note, clicked off at the final plosive with split-second timing, and waited, eyes closed, for confirmation.

"Beautiful!" exclaimed Charlene's voice in his ear. (Obviously the words were getting piped into all four sets of headphones, but as long as they were in the soundproof booths, Stephen could pretend their music producer's praise was just for him.) "I think this track's in the bag. And just in time for lunch, too. Come on out, boys."

They all ended up filing down the hall together. Stephen picked up Briar Rose and dropped back behind his bandmates to keep pace with Charlene. "Did you listen to the demo tape I made yet?"

"Haven't had a chance," said Charlene calmly. (Stephen pouted. What good was having a cousin of yours on the production team if she wouldn't give you special consideration?) "Maybe when this album is finished."

"But it could be on the album!" insisted Stephen. "Once I figure out the rest of the lyrics...and write the music for more than one instrument...and change your name to something else, I only sang it in there as a placeholder...although if you wanted to leave it in, I could always —"

Charlene patted him on the back. "No shop talk at lunch. Go sit with your friends."

Defeated, Stephen jogged to catch up with Jon and Jimmy. He looped Briar Rose's leash around a chair, told her to stay, promised to snag her some beef if she was a good girl, and fell into the sandwich line with the other two.

"When did you write a song?" asked Jon, snagging himself a turkey and pepper jack roll.

"Oh, here and there, now and then," said Stephen modestly.

"Mostly when it's just him and me hanging out," added Jimmy. "When you're busy, so he isn't distracted doing your particular friend stuff. I helped him work out the melody!"

"Jimmy helped a little bit," allowed Stephen, grabbing one snack-size bag of each flavor of Doritos. "Come on, Jon, you've never been content to just belt out whatever packaged songs the Man gives us! And by the Man, I mostly mean Charlene. How better to fix it than to write some of our own?"

"It's a cool idea," Jon assured him. "I'm just dubious about whether we'd actually be allowed to perform it."

"Jon!" Stephen brandished a Dorito bag at him. "How can you say that? You haven't even heard it yet!"

"Okay, okay! When do I get to hear it?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

They took their places at the table, where Stephen picked a couple shreds of roast beef out of his sandwich and fed them one by one to the puppy curled up under his chair. Jimmy used the time to pick up half a dozen glasses from the drinks line (and to appropriate Jon's and Stephen's), which he filled with varying levels of Sprite, testing the resulting tone with a fork tapped against the edge.

"I could wait till after lunch, you know," Jon assured them. "We could do it in the practice room, where you could play an actual instrument instead of the, uh, glass-and-soda xylophone."

"Hey, I have to get my glass xylophone practice in some time," said Jimmy reasonably. "Stephen, whenever you're ready."

Stephen straightened up, counted off, and began to sing.

"Every time I see you~ I think of you / Every time I'm near you~ I think of you / I think of you, when I dream of you, when I'm something something something~ / I think of you, when I'm something else, haven't worked this line here out yet...."

He went through the whole thing uninterrupted, eyes falling closed a couple of times, he was so moved. At last he trilled a quick "...copyright Stephen Col-bert 2011~!" and turned expectantly to Jon.

...who was hiding his smile behind a fist. "I'll give you one thing," he said, eyes sparkling, "that could definitely be one of our songs."

Stephen beamed. "You like it!" he said adoringly, then remembered he wasn't supposed to look so adoring in public, and re-appropriated one of Jimmy's cups to busy himself taking a hasty drink.

Jon shied away from the motion. "I'll...just go get a fresh one of those, if that's okay."

 

~*~

 

The space belowdecks on the _Small Wonder_ was oppressively dark before Olivia's eyes adjusted, even with a few dim shafts of light falling through tinted windows. Kitchen, berths, bathroom, and seating area were crammed together in a compact, winding labyrinth. The staircase had LEDs running along each step, a safety necessity, especially with the treads themselves being so narrow they were basically a glorified ladder.

Olivia lowered herself out of reach of the sunlight, and let herself fall to a seat one of the cozy berths. Kristen followed right behind to straddle her thighs, blue eyes twinkling at her out of the darkness.

They got an introductory kiss out of the way, then Kristen said, "Can you come over and have dinner with my family some time soon?"

Olivia's ponytail swung against the back of her neck as she cocked her head. "What, like, down on the farm?"

"Aw, come on, you don't have to say it like that," complained Kristen. "It's a perfectly normal LA apartment. The building just happens to have an extra-large garden on the roof."

"Uh-huh. How large is large, again?"

Kristen shrugged. "Forty thousand square feet. But who's counting? So, what about dinner? It'll be delicious. We always have super fresh produce."

Olivia chewed on the side of her lip. "Your parents don't...know anything, do they? Or your brother?"

"Nope. Well, they know I'm into girls...although my dad seems to think it's an either-or thing and that has to mean I'm a lesbian...but nothing about you. Except...."

Uh-oh.

"Well, my mom sort of got the impression you're stringing me along," blurted Kristen. "And my parents are very protective so obviously they don't like that much. So I thought, hey, if you come over for dinner and they can see firsthand that we're hanging out like always and not having any problems, maybe they'll calm down! Right?"

Olivia slumped against Kristen's chest with a groan of relief. "That's so much better than what I was afraid of. Sure, I'll come down for dinner. As long as they're cool with Lonny hanging around."

"They'll probably set him an extra plate."

"But if it doesn't work..." prompted Olivia.

Kristen's chin rested against the top of her head. "If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. Torpedoing your career is not in the plan! Neither is risking the careers of any of our fabulous gay buddies. So don't worry, I've got your backs."

Olivia hummed in approval and kissed Kristen's neck. "You are the best girlfriend."

 

~*~

 

As of mid-afternoon, Stephen was still talking about all the songs he wanted to write. He had a whole album's worth of Christmas carols alone. Because what was more likely to keep paying out royalties year after year than if he could get a hit with a Christmas song?

The windows in his room were open, letting a nice sea breeze blow over them. Briar Rose was in his lap, getting brushed. Jon was in the chair over by his desk, spinning a bit from side to side and doodling on a scratchpad, while Jimmy was sprawled comfortably on the bed, chin resting on his folded arms and eyes closed, no doubt so that he could focus more intently on Stephen's words.

"So, Jimmy, do you have any music-writing plans?" asked Jon, when Stephen had reached a good breaking point. Well, sort of a good breaking point. Well, really, he just paused to take a breath.

Jimmy sat up a bit, opening his eyes and trying to push his hair out of them. (His professional "adorable" image required hair that was this-close to flopping across his eyes, which could be downright hazardous in the last few days before a haircut if he didn't gel properly.) "Not like Stephen does. I have more fun playing with other people's stuff."

He did mean playing _with_ , not just playing. When there was downtime and he had a keyboard around, or even a guitar someone else would let him borrow, Stephen had heard plenty of his musical idlings turn into something with craft behind it: recasting a song in a different key, putting rap lyrics to a country tune, maybe throwing a dozen disparate tunes into a mashup.

"Oh!" added Jimmy. "I did write a song about Presidents' Day once."

"Sounds, um, unique," said Jon doubtfully.

"Yeah, I wasn't expecting it to be a yearly staple on the radio or anything."

"Although it should be!" put in Stephen. "Presidents' Day is a very important holiday! There would be hundreds of songs about it if everyone loved America as much as you do."

Jimmy grinned up at him. "Thanks, buddy."

Then he tipped his head meaningfully in Jon's direction.

It took a second, but suddenly Stephen caught the hint Jimmy was trying to drop. "So, Jon! Have you ever written any music?"

Jon shrugged. His pen couldn't really be drawing anything right now. It was just going in circles. "I'm not much in the song-writing department. More of a playing guy, really. Maybe I could write lyrics if I had a tune to start with...and if someone gave me a topic...."

Indignant, Stephen yanked on the brush so hard Briar Rose whined and wriggled out of his arms. "Oh, come on, it's not hard! You just have to find the right inspiration. There must be _something_ that could inspire you to be musical." He arched his eyebrows meaningfully. 

Jon completely failed to take the hint. "Not like that, no. If I tried, I'd probably just end up writing about _Doom_ or something."

Well, that had potential, didn't it? "Whose doom? Yours? Someone else's? Or is this Mount Doom?"

"It's...the first-person shooter."

Stephen fell back against the headboard with a groan, brush-wielding hand flopping across his forehead in Southern-belle agitation. "Jon! This is supposed to be about the _feelings_ in your _soul_."

"Hey, _Doom_ gives me a lot of feelings!" protested Jon. Lowering his voice, he added, "I used to play all the time with Anthony. We were planning to coordinate some sessions after I got over here, but, um. It didn't work out."

"Anthony, your Jersey BFF?" asked Jimmy. "That's really sad."

"It was a bummer," agreed Jon, now stabbing little dots onto the paper. Maybe he was drawing somebody with freckles. "And you can get people online to do multiplayer mode with, but, like, what if somebody recognized my voice? What if they got a recording of some of the stuff I yell at those zombie Marines? It wouldn't end well."

By this point Stephen was moved. Deeply moved. Mostly moved to want to punch Jon's neglectful Jersey BFF. "Jon," he declared solemnly, straightening back up and placing his hand over his heart, "I will play _Doom_ with you."

Jon hesitated. "Stephen, I don't want to sound ungrateful, but...have you ever played before?"

"I should be a natural!" insisted Stephen. "I come from a strong Southern family with traditional values! Handling absurdly overpowered firearms is in my blood!"

"Uh-huh. Funny you should mention _blood_ , because the thing is, the animation can get a bit graphic...."

"And you think I can't handle it?"

"Stephen...." put in Jimmy, in a tone that suggested he was not going to back Stephen up here. "I remember you crying on my shoulder when the Brave Little Toaster got crushed."

That started Jon giggling. It was very hard for Stephen to keep the righteous anger going when Jon insisted on being this adorable. "It was a moving scene," he sulked, trying to hold on to some kind of dignity. "That toaster was _very_ brave."

 

~*~

 

Maybe ten minutes into the making out, Olivia remembered. "Oh, by the way, you gotta bite less. Mac's worried I have a feisty boyfriend on the side."

"Mmm." Kristen, now lying parallel to Olivia in the cramped booth with one leg slung over her thighs, nuzzled her neck. "Tell her you and Stephen..."

"Tried that. She didn't buy it."

"...you and Stephen's puppy were playing, and the poor thing didn't know its own strength," finished Kristen, caressing Olivia's bare back under her blouse. "Give me _some_ credit."

Olivia stuck out her lower lip. "Just find somewhere less visible to chew on."

"Mmm." Kristen's lips curved into a devilish smile. The skirt of her striped sundress was all puddled around her hips, baring a long, tanned expanse of thigh. "You have any suggestions?"

Olivia considered. "...Can I take my shirt off?"

It was pretty disheartening when Kristen jumped, a startled expression wiping everything else from her face. "Seriously?"

"That _was_ where this was going, right?" asked Olivia, suddenly afraid she'd been reading Kristen all wrong.

"No, I mean yes, it was," stammered Kristen. "I just wasn't expecting, if you would actually, omigod please take your shirt off."

The hands that had lingered on Olivia's torso pulled away, and in one wriggly motion Olivia stripped the loose navy blouse over her head.

She was second-guessing the whole idea almost the moment it was off. Kristen had seen her in a bikini a hundred times, couldn't have missed that her chest wasn't exactly the most expansive, but what if the sight was really underwhelming up close? Especially today had been one of the days she went without a bra, and even at her size those offered a certain amount of bounce. Olivia tossed the shirt aside, folded her arms loosely over her chest in a way that hopefully didn't reek of _too_ much insecurity, and waited.

For a long moment Kristen didn't react.

Then she said, "I want to put my tongue on _all of that_."

Olivia couldn't help it. She cracked up.

"I'm not weird!" wailed Kristen. "You're very attractive! This is a perfectly natural reaction!"

"It's a little weird," giggled Olivia, now clutching her stomach against the laughter. "Good! Good weird. Sexy weird."

"I guess I can settle for sexy weird," said Kristen with a sigh. "But only because I _really_ like you."

 

~*~

 

Jon had filled about five pages with terrible doodles by the time Jimmy and Stephen finally started saying their good-nights.

It was a three-person sleepover for misdirection's sake, but a _de facto_ two-person sleepover by mutual agreement. And even knowing there was a long list of things Stephen had put off-limits, Jon had spent most of the evening thinking about everything that was left...which meant he kept needing the notepad over his lap as a bit of personal misdirection.

The pen he'd been using was starting to run dry. While Jimmy retired to the next room, Jon pulled open a couple of desk drawers to see if Stephen had any ink refills lying around.

When his hand landed on the bag between a tangle of extra headphones and the _Return of the King_ post-it notes, he spent a couple of seconds staring in disbelief.

"I'm going to change in the bathroom," announced Stephen from the bureau, tossing pajamas over his arm. "And you change out here. Knock when it's safe for me to come out, okay?"

"Sure," said Jon. "Hey, listen, how long have you been holding out on us?"

"What?"

Jon held up the bag. "You've got this much weed lying around and you weren't going to share?"

"That's not a _weed_ , Jon," said Stephen derisively. "It was a _present_. Obviously some kind of spice. I just haven't figured out what you're supposed to bake with it yet."

Jon smirked. "Yourself, mostly."

"Come again?"

"Stephen. It's marijuana."

Stephen frowned. "Are you sure?"

Jon unzipped the corner of the ziplock and sniffed, just to double check. "Yep. Positive."

"Oh." Stephen wound his way over to the desk, folded PJ's wrapped in his arms, and eyed the bag like it might bite. "Do...do you know what you're supposed to do with it?"

"I have a general idea," admitted Jon. "Kinda light on the practical experience, though. Do you wanna...see if we can figure it out?"

"Well, not now!" said Stephen. "If Papa found out, he'd dump all my fish in the ocean for sure." He swallowed. "Jon? Will you hang on to this for me? And then, later, we can get together at your place and...and either figure it out, or we can get a Guest Expert. I know Steve knows about these things."

Jon raised his eyebrows. "I thought Steve was Not Acceptable?"

"He is acceptable when he's _not_ being a giant stupid jerkface," said Stephen primly. "Are you taking the weed or not?"

So Jon stuck the bag in the duffel he'd brought over, and threw his dirty clothes on top of it.

For sleepwear he'd brought a pair of grey plaid pajama shorts and an old faded T-shirt, souvenir of the music camp Mom had saved up to send him to when he was twelve. (He'd gotten a shirt from the latest session just a week ago, in gratitude for how, at the start of the summer, he'd written the program a check large enough to take a dozen kids on scholarship.) The puppy was already scratching impatiently at the door to the attached bathroom; Jon leaned over her and told Stephen he was decent, then retreated to the bed to wait.

It was at least three full minutes before Stephen finally came out. His blond-tipped dark hair was wet and combed back, he smelled like gardenias and sandalwood, and he was wearing a thin undershirt over a pair of black drawstring pants...patterned with the Shout*For logo and all the boys' autographs in silver.

"I really hope you don't always wear cologne to bed," said Jon, but he was grinning dizzily as he spread his legs so Stephen could kneel between them.

"Don't know what you're talking about." Stephen scooted in tantalizingly close. "This is my natural musk."

"Uh-huh. Sure." Jon looped his fingers around the drawstring. "Never realized we had a line of guys' PJs in adult sizes," he said, and tugged Stephen forward by the hips.

Stephen's hand hit the headboard over Jon's shoulder, saving him from falling on top of Jon completely. "Ah —!" he breathed, flushed face so close Jon could practically feel the heat. "We, um. We do not. Is that a problem?"

Jon took a second to process that. "Mmmnope," he decided, and went for the kiss.

He'd been half-hard already, and the taste of Stephen's mouth sealed the deal. He could keep his hands occupied by digging his fingers into the curves of Stephen's hips, but he couldn't completely stop his own pelvis from bucking and twisting here and there, desperate for more friction.

Then Stephen slung one leg over Jon's and thrust against the crook where Jon's thigh met his body, leaving Jon to grind directly against his other leg, and sweet mercy this was heaven. Jon wrenched his mouth away from Stephen's to get a visual, and his gut tightened: his own signature was stretched across Stephen's erection. "Jesus, Stephen...!"

"Jon," panted Stephen, nuzzling his jawline. "Jon, I —" He jerked their faces apart. "You have _stubble_."

An earthquake probably would have had a hard time getting Jon's attention right then...but he hadn't been waiting years for an earthquake to come in. His grinding dropped to a slow burn; he got one hand to his chin. "All right!" he exclaimed, finding a patch of fuzz on one side, then the other. "How does it look?"

"Terrible," said Stephen flatly. "You should shave."

Jon was in too good a mood to be put off. "Yeah, obviously it's gonna be scraggly for a while. Is it at least, like, symmetrical? We don't have any TV spots for at least a week. If I let it grow...?"

"Don't let it grow!" cried Stephen. "It is Not Acceptable. Disney princes never have beards!"

"Hah!" said Jon. "Do so! Rapunzel's guy did! Flynn. Eugene." He offered his best sexy grin. "Come on, I can totally pull off the lovable rogue thing."

Stephen pouted, eyes large and round, lower lip wobbling...but he couldn't fight Jon's unshakeable logic, and he wasn't going to earn any pity when Jon's fuzz situation was so obviously not _that_ much of a turnoff.

"I swear I'll shave in a couple days if it's still terrible," said Jon anyway, then rocked the leg that was trapped between Stephen's thighs gently upward.

With a strangled groan Stephen fell forward, plastering his whole body against Jon's now, burying his face in the slope of Jon's shoulder and grinding needily against him.

Jon had just enough presence of mind to shove them down the mattress, so his head hit the bunched-up pillow and not the headboard as it fell back. The ceiling swam in front of his eyes anyway. Stephen's weight was only half on his knees now, the other half split between one precariously placed hand and Jon's whole body as it bucked up to meet him. The overwhelming scent now was gardenias and sweat, which you wouldn't think would be sexy, but.

Fisting one hand in Stephen's undershirt for stability, Jon got the other cupping Stephen's ass, moving with him, encouraging him to keep it up.

"I'm gonna," panted Jon, far too soon — his dick had grown out of the hair-trigger stage, but wasn't going to win any endurance prizes any time soon — "Stephen, can't, gotta let me up, I'll —"

Stephen just clung more tightly — "Stay."

"Stay?" echoed Jon, not believing his luck — dry-humping until they came all over each other had _definitely_ not been on Stephen's list.

For answer, Stephen pressed him more heavily against the mattress.

Whatever holding-back Jon had been trying to do, it all fell away. He lost his sense of anything that wasn't his body or Stephen's; he nuzzled adoringly at Stephen's neck, raining down kisses, while his hips moved all on their own more furiously than anything he could have controlled —

A shudder made Stephen's back arch upward —

— then he tore out of Jon's arms after all, must've changed his mind —

— and Jon was too far gone to think about it, too gone to do anything but shove his hand down his shorts and pump and stroke and _twist_.

 

He lay boneless on Stephen's mattress, unfocused, tired, _happy_ , still panting while little aftershocks ran up and down his skin.

Jon could have dropped off right there (mess in his shorts be damned), and slept like a baby through the night, if he hadn't noticed that the bathroom door was still hanging open. And that the sound from beyond it was decidedly less than sexy.

He withdrew his curled-up hand and went to see.

When he emerged onto the tiled floor, Jon sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Stay right there, I'll get you some water," he said, and scrubbed the come off his hands at the nearest sink before filling a glass and crouching at Stephen's side.

Stephen was bent over the toilet, still shaking. It didn't smell like gardenias at all over here.

"I didn't know you were sick," said Jon. "You should've said something. I would've tried to knock you around less."

"I'm not sick," said Stephen sullenly, accepting the water. "I'm allergic to your stubble."

Obviously that was nonsense, but Jon could make a few sacrifices if it would make his nausea-stricken boyfriend feel better. "Okay, okay. I'll get rid of it as soon as I get home."

"No." Stephen took a moment to hit the flush, then sat weakly back against the frosted-glass door of the shower. "Now. I have spare razors. Cabinet." He jabbed his finger in the right direction.

Jon raised his eyebrows. "Wait, you're not shaving yet. Are you?"

Stephen fixed him with a reassuringly cross look. "Well, not my _face_."

 

~*~

 

While Jon was experiencing the unique invigorating and moisturizing power of Prescott Pharmaceuticals' shaving cream, Stephen changed his pants. It was very unfair: he'd come, all right, but had been too busy losing track of where he was to enjoy it.

 _I'm with Jon,_ he told himself for the umpteenth time, swallowing his two Vaxasopor. And then — self-consciously, since he was no longer too filled with arousal for any Catholic guilt to pry its way in — _I...wanted to do that with Jon._

(It couldn't be on the Lord's blacklist. They hadn't even gotten naked for it. Really, when you broke down the action, it had just been masturbation in very, very close proximity to each other...and God had also been known to side-eye masturbation, but not enough to stop everyone from doing it anyway.)

Now in (men's) pajama bottoms patterned with Mickey silhouettes, he was curled up in bed when Jon came out. If Jon had noticed the change before flipping off the lights, he didn't comment before joining Stephen. "You feel better?" he asked, smoothing back Stephen's tousled hair. "And...and before you, you know...was it good for you?"

Stephen tugged him down so they were lying parallel to each other. "It was good, with you," he said, running his fingers along Jon's smooth jawline. "Mmm. You smell like jasmine."

"Is that bad?" asked Jon, sounding nervous. "Should I be smelling like Aladdin?"

"No, no, I meant the flower. It's one of the heart notes in the aftershave Prescott keeps sending me."

_And Ned never uses that stuff. So I'm with Jon. He smells like Jon. Feels like Jon. Sounds like...._

"Sing me something," ordered Stephen drowsily, finding Jon's hand and lacing their fingers together.

"Sure," said Jon. "Any requests?"

Stephen shrugged. "You pick."

Jon hummed a couple of notes, experimenting, then settled into a gentle, slow take on what had started an up-tempo and guitar-heavy rock song. "I went out walking the other day~ / Seen a little girl crying along the wa~ay / She'd been hurt so bad said she'd never love again~ / Someday your crying, girl, will end / And you'll find once again: / Two hearts are better than one / Two hearts, girl, get the job done / Two hearts are better than one...."

Stephen fell asleep listening.


	19. We Take Care Of Our Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen's determined to do anything necessary to look out for Jimmy and support Jon. Olivia tries to give her fake boyfriend solid advice (though it would be easier if she weren't drinking so steadily), and to be a good guest with her secret girlfriend's over-defensive family. And Jon discovers that an old friend from Jersey still has his back, in spite of everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the South Park references are adapted from [that episode they did starring the Jonas Brothers](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Ring_%28South_Park%29). For your reference: [teenage Anthony Weiner](http://hipsterjew.com/young-anthony-weiner/).
> 
> Because this AU has gotten crazy long, I'm splitting it up into parts. This chapter marks the end of Act I. Stay tuned to the series for more, starting with Jon's turbulent New Jersey vacation...

_A dirt road, afternoon, under the sun._

The replica 1958 convertible was a monster. It felt about twice the size of Jon's aunt's car. The grill and headlights looked like the face of something that ate bicycles for breakfast. He was glad this was being filmed out in the middle of nowhere, because anywhere near the city he would have been crashing into things right and left, jumping the tires up onto curbs, and rounding it all off by overflowing any space he tried to park in.

"Remember, all you have to do is go in a straight line," said the woman from the production team who was currently in the passenger seat. "It's not rocket science."

"Right." Jon pushed down harder on the gas, and tried not to ask why, if this hulk wasn't a rocket, did it have fins?

It was the last day of location shots for Shout*For's next music video — one which had borrowed a lot of the _Grease_ aesthetic, though it wasn't (to Stephen's dismay) a cover of a _Grease_ song. Half the scenes put the four of them in dark suits, with wide-collared shirts and matching handkerchiefs in the pockets. When they were all piled into the convertible, it would be leather jackets and not-quite-loose white T-shirts for everyone.

(They'd be wearing their purity rings the whole time, of course. Jon didn't understand how nobody's head was exploding with the cognitive dissonance of that one.)

"This is about as far as we'll be getting footage," the production woman informed him. "Make a U-turn whenever you're ready."

The actual paved road — the one that the nice sleek Mazda with the mounted video cameras would be shadowing them from — carved a parallel track about ten feet away from the dirt path. Jon tried not to hit it as he pulled the car around, doing an awkward three-point turn on the grass. Nobody had gone by in the time they'd been there, but you never knew.

A short, relatively relaxing drive back, and they were pulling up to the camera crew and the rest of the band. Jimmy was fiddling with the fit of his jacket. Stephen was just watching, starry-eyed. Jon slowed to a stop not far from them, slung his arm over the side of the door, and said, "I just might have the hang of this thing."

"Very promising," said the production woman. "Now, can you do that while singing and looking excited?"

"Um," said Jon.

"I see. Tucker! Come on over, let's see how you do."

"Ready and willing," said Tucker brightly. The leather jacket and torn jeans did nothing to make him look convincingly rebellious or anti-authority. "And legal, even! That's right — you don't have your license yet, do you, Jon?"

"I'm working on it," snapped Jon. "And since when do you have yours?"

"Since the week I turned sixteen." He swung the convertible door closed, buckled in, then answered the question hanging in the air: "Three days after Stephen did. I can see how it might have been confusing, since there wasn't a concert or anything to clue you in, but again: Wikipedia. Not that hard to use."

To his surprise, Jon actually felt sort of bad. He and Jimmy hadn't gotten concerts either, but with November and September birthdays, they weren't in line to be so blatantly overshadowed. Irritably, he said, "Oh, and I'm sure you've scoured all our wiki pages and have every little factoid memorized."

Tucker revved the engine; trails of dust swirled around the wheels as they started to move. As the car pulled away, he called over his shoulder, "I do at least know the basics, Sagittarius!"

 

~*~

_Star Girl studio, same afternoon, under the lights._

Olivia winked, grinned, blew the cameras a kiss, twirled on her three-inch heels, and was just all-around aggressively adorable. Her hair, freshly permed, fell in loose waves around her face.

Fashion photoshoots like these had gotten more and more irritating over the last two years. The more Olivia woke up to the fact that she was actually turning out sexy, the more she wanted to cut her necklines lower, tug the hemlines higher, maybe flash a bit of leg or show off her nice toned stomach. The Mouse, meanwhile, didn't even like it when she got photographed with bare shoulders. It could be hard to keep up a professionally dazzling smile under those conditions.

But not today. Today she'd had a couple drinks with lunch, and she was loose. Limber. Relaxed. They could doll her up in a sweet-Lolita dress, bonnet and lacy gloves and all, and she would give them a nice blank-eyed anime smile without complaining once.

The mental image was kind of hilarious. Olivia suddenly found it hard not to crack up.

"Cut!" yelled the photography director, whose name Olivia had already forgotten. "Less smirking! Cute belted dresses over skinny jeans are not supposed to make Lisa Munn smirk!"

"No, it's cool!" Olivia assured him. He wasn't so bad. Dumb haircut, but he deserved to be happy anyway. "Just thought of something funny. The outfit is great! You're a...you are a prince among wardrobe coordinators. I mean that."

"That's wonderful, Olivia!" said Mac with chirpy encouragement. "Now channel that admiration into a big wide grin!"

And she gave Olivia an example. It looked like it probably hurt her face.

Olivia made it through one more pose before the sight made her crack up so hard she had to sit down for a few minutes to catch her breath.

 

~*~

 

To nobody's surprise, Tucker got assigned to the driver's seat. Jon gritted his teeth and resolved not to be a dick about it.

The shoot was a one-trailer affair, with the four of them lined up in front of the mirrors while their head stylist did a last-minute gel job on their hair. Brian was outside discussing something manager-y with the crew; Ned, who had come along for some manager-y reason, was in with them. While the stylist was busy with Jon, Ned was behind Stephen, hands on his shoulders, giving what sounded like a pep talk. He was pretty quiet — they were one chair over, and Jon only caught sentence fragments.

Their stylist moved on to Stephen, and Ned stepped aside, pausing behind Jimmy. "You boys are all growing up so fast," he said to no one in particular. Then his hand rested on Jimmy's head, the better to toy lightly with Jimmy's bangs. "You ever thought about asking for a more sophisticated style, buddy?"

"Stop touching him!" burst out Stephen.

"Easy, Stephen," soothed Ned, still fingering Jimmy's hair.

"Don't tell me 'easy'!" ordered Stephen — and _stood up_ mid-styling, the plastic drape still over his shoulders, to get in his solo manager's face. "And move your hands!"

"Stephen, it's okay!" said Jimmy, trying to be placating. "It isn't styled yet. He's not messing anything up."

Ned's touch left Jimmy's scalp to rest on Stephen's chest. "Your friend's right, buddy. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine! Don't — just keep your hands off his hair!"

With impeccable timing, Brian picked that moment to enter the trailer. "Something the matter?" he asked, reassuringly calm.

Ned answered. "I think Stephen could use a few minutes to rest."

"I do not need a rest!" wailed Stephen. He whirled on the stylist, then on Jon. "You saw what happened — tell him!"

Jon cringed, not knowing how to handle this. His gut instinct these days was usually to back Stephen up, and yeah, Ned's touchy-feeliness was weird and awkward. On the other hand, it hadn't been any weirder than usual just then...and Stephen's face had a strained, drawn look about the eyes, like maybe he could use a nap after all.

This time it was Tucker who spoke up. "Come on, Col-bert, we all know you take your cosmetology seriously, but we've got filming to do here and you're burning daylight."

"Stephen," added Jon gently. "Jimmy's fine. Sit down, all right?"

That seemed to do the trick. Stephen took his seat between them again, mouth pressed into a thin line. Jon resolved to gather him into a hug the next moment they were alone together. In the meantime, all he could do was try to look sympathetic, as Stephen snaked one hand up under the drape and wrapped it around where Jon knew his half of the Best Friends Forever pendant fell.

 

~*~

_Gloria & Jane's, evening._

"Lisa! I love you, Lisa! Sign my bag? Sign a photo!"

Fans! Olivia liked fans. Didn't usually see them lurking outside the pie place...but someone from PR must have tipped off the gossip sites that she and Stephen had a date there tonight, because there were at least a dozen people waiting when they got out of the limo. Good thing Olivia had come prepared. If she hadn't been a sheet and a half to the wind, she might have been exasperated enough to blow up at this little crowd, and then how would PR feel?

She unlocked her arm from Stephen's and swished over to the group with a smile. Lonny was right behind her in case anybody tried anything, so it was cool. "Sure, I'll sign stuff. You guys got a marker?"

"I always carry an emergency autograph marker!" chimed in Stephen, not to be outdone. "Someone wants my signature too, right? Because I can sign anything if you can hold it still for ten seconds. Merchandise...clothing...body parts...."

Olivia ended up signing four or five albums, a couple of posters, a tote bag, a box containing a mint-condition doll of herself, and the back of some guy's T-shirt. Lonny had to ward off one young woman who wanted Stephen to sign her cleavage, but other than that he got similar requests. They beamed their way through a couple of photos, then finally went inside, cameras flashing in their wake.

"Fans are so nice," said Stephen dreamily.

"Fans are all right," agreed Olivia. She was hanging on to Stephen's arm again, which turned out to be a good thing when, for just a second, her vision went swimmy. Good thing it was time for food, huh?

She even condescended to eat a couple of mini burgers before ordering her pie.

Stephen, as always, got a slice of American Apple. His good mood had been on a downslide, though, and by the time it arrived he poked at the crust without much enthusiasm. "Olivia?"

"Mmhmm?" replied Olivia through a mouthful of French silk.

"Can I talk to you about...something? A serious something?"

Olivia swallowed, and licked firmly at a smear of chocolate down the handle of her fork. "Go 'head."

"It's about...sex stuff." Stephen's voice was getting quieter by the word. "And when it's maybe...not okay."

Sobering up she might be (sort of), but that was still a pretty nebulous concept for Olivia to wrap her head around. She sifted through the fuzz of possible meanings, latched onto the first one that made sense, and leered approvingly at her fake boyfriend. "Aww, is someone turning out to be a red-blooded human male after all?"

"...what?"

"Steeeeephen. Don' worry about it. It's okay." She half-cuddled, half-slumped against his side, the better to pat him on the chest. "I know you've got this whole...conservative Catholic _thing_ going on, but out here in the real world? 'Sex stuff' is totally fine. Don't force yourself to be a monk just 'cause you think you're supposed to." Pulling herself closer so her lips were up next to his good ear, she whispered: "You want to make it with Jon, you get that dick, boo, and don't you feel guilty for a second."

Stephen's whole face went darker and redder, like someone had run it through a poorly-calibrated Photoshop filter. "Thank you Olivia!" he squeaked. "Your perspective was very helpful and I will keep it in mind!"

Friendship duties accomplished, Olivia settled back onto her half of the bench and renewed the attack on her slice of pie. _Nailed it._

 

~*~

_Downtown (where all the lights are bright)._

The restaurant and grocery that made up the ground floor of the co-op was a hive of aged-wood décor and chalkboard signage. Kristen led them in the back way, Lonny scoped the place out, and Olivia thrilled a young male barista by agreeing to draw something on one of the menu boards.

"Do you seriously have kale smoothies?" she asked Kristen, after getting down a sketch of a couple of doofy-looking birds and signing it _Lisa Munn_. "I thought that was just an urban myth. Like chupacabras, or alligators in the sewers, or wise old taxi drivers who help you get your life together."

"Don't knock 'em until you've tried 'em," said Kristen sagely.

A line of people had shown up for autographs while Olivia was drawing. Precisely one of them wanted a signature from Kristen. No wonder she didn't come over here often. (That, plus the fact that her place had the pool, and the boat, and the big-screen TV, and way less adult supervision.) Olivia signed half a dozen, then begged off and had Lonny guard their way to the stairs.

(Tonight her penmanship was much neater than it had been during her last date with Stephen. She'd hardly drunk anything at all. Just enough to keep the edge of the anxiety at bay.)

When they got into the elevator, Kristen punched the button for the roof. "I have to check on the chickens," she explained.

"As long as it's quick," said Olivia. "I spent this afternoon filming a commercial on a beach in hundred-degree heat. I want some air conditioning."

The rooftop farm operated by the Schaals and several other families covered the entire roof of the building. This time of year it was crowded with thick greenery, the different plants identified by hand-drawn signs: tomatoes, peppers, cabbages, peas, radishes, and, yes, kale. The beehives were at one end, the chicken coops at the other, while in between a couple of people worked in the dirt and a woman explained something in Spanish to a group of seven- or eight-year-olds.

Kristen clucked at the chickens while she topped up their water. To Olivia she said, "You know, if we were in one of your movies, this would be the first scene of your journey of realization that you wanted to quit your empty life of stardom and move to the country to follow the much more wholesome passion of farming."

"It probably would," said Olivia. "You don't secretly want to move to the country and farm, do you?"

"Nooooo," giggled Kristen. "It works okay here, but if we were somewhere outside the city, who would we perform for? The cows? Because you know, those guys are _notorious_ hecklers."

"On behalf of all cowkind, I'm offended by that."

"Does that mean you don't want burgers and drumsticks tonight?"

"Whoa, slow down there. Just because I'm offended doesn't mean I'm not gonna get hungry."

Kristen grinned under the brim of her hat. She actually had a nice straw one, unlike Olivia, who had shown up in a cheap baseball cap. "Don't worry! I'm kidding. There's gonna be more than enough thighs and breasts for you to get some."

A new discovery: normal Kristen being bawdy was hilarious, but girlfriend Kristen being bawdy made Olivia's mouth go dry. Her eyes fixed on a bead of sweat as it ran down Kristen's collarbones, agonizingly slow, before disappearing into her cleavage.

Kristen had to tug on her hand to snap her out of it. "Downstairs? We have vegan popsicles."

 

~*~

_Jon's place._

Stephen was trying to keep his head in the game. Really, he was. He just had too much on his mind.

Like: had Ned always played with other people's hair, or had he used to limit himself to just Stephen's (and, that one time, Tina's)?

Like: if Stephen and Tucker were both Tauruses, did that mean Jon would be equally compatible with either of them?

Like: how was he supposed to focus on the screen when there was a shirtless Jon right next to him?

"Why didn't you tell me you were about two hits from death? Go for the soul sphere!" ordered Jon suddenly, his avatar aiming a plasma rifle and taking out a demon in one shot. "I'll cover you!"

"The what?"

"The blue thing!"

Stephen mashed some buttons, hoping he would get the 'walk' command somewhere in there. His avatar just started swinging a chainsaw. It wasn't even in the right direction to take out the zombie that knocked out the last of his health.

Jon threw down his controller, groaned, and collapsed sideways into Stephen's lap.

"I tried," said Stephen plaintively.

"Yeah, I know."

Before Stephen could suggest they play a nice sensible game, like DDR or Vocaloid or something, Jon's laptop started into the bloopy ringtone of an incoming Skype call.

Jon sat bolt upright. "That's probably Mom," he said, and grabbed frantically for his discarded clothing. "I've gotta get that. I've gotta put a shirt on! Oh my god, I'm so glad we weren't mid-makeout just now."

He had the grey T-shirt over his head and landed in his desk chair in two seconds flat, waking up the screen while Stephen tried to keep out of the way of the webcam. They'd been shirtless because it was hot out, not for any more indecent reasons, but still.

"Okay, not Mom," said Jon suddenly. He clicked, and the ringtone stopped. "Anthony! How the hell have you been?"

"Jon!" said an urgent young male voice from the laptop speakers. "Please tell me you're near a TV right now."

"Yeah, why?"

"Turn on Comedy Central. You're on _South Park!_ "

Before Stephen quite knew what was happening, Jon was back over by him, flipping the flatscreen from their ill-fated (some might even say, _Doomed_ ) game to basic cable. Or rather, some kind of livestream of an East Coast feed of basic cable. "Hey, Stephen, can you bring the laptop over here?"

Thankfully, Stephen was back in his very nice polo shirt by now.

The laptop, when Stephen picked it up, was displaying the patchy webcam image of a skinny, square-faced Jewish guy with a mop of light brown curls. He looked enough like Jon that they could have been brothers, although he didn't have Jon's crystal blue eyes, or elegant slender face, or all-around superior handsomeness. "You're Anthony Weiner," observed Stephen.

Anthony broke into a toothy grin. "No way. Stephen Col-bert knows who I am."

 

~*~

 

Dinner with Kristen's family was...an experience.

Olivia made a point of putting a whole lot of kale on her burger. "Mmm, delicious! I'm very impressed."

"We try to grow our own food as much as possible," said Kristen's mother breezily, tossing the salad ingredients in a big bowl with a pair of hand-carved wooden tongs. "You can really taste the difference. But I guess you don't do much gardening up in the Hills."

Olivia winced.

Kristen stepped in to rescue her. "Olivia doesn't have time for gardening, Mom. She's working on an album right now. And she just got hired as a spokesperson for this really neat wildlife safety campaign."

"Of course, of course! And that's very admirable," said Mrs. Schaal, in the same tone you would use for praising a child's first painting for obviously taking them a lot of time.

Under the crunchy urban-farmers shell, Kristen's parents were shockingly normal. They displayed nothing like their daughter's quirkiness or weird sense of humor; none of her bubbly enthusiasm, even about their work, which they clearly enjoyed. Sure, everyone was on their best manners, but that didn't mean you had to have the personality of a rock in the process.

"So where's David?" asked Olivia, trying to change the subject. She'd exchanged hellos with Kristen's older brother plenty of times; he was often the one to drop her off at the studio, and sometimes picked her up from Olivia's house. "I wanted to say hi."

"Counseling at a summer camp for a few weeks," said Kristen's father. "Didn't Kristen ever mention it? Pass the mustard, won't you?"

The diplomatically quiet Lonny handed the bottle to Olivia, who passed it on to Kristen, who said, "It never came up."

"Really! You know, David brags about his famous actress sister all the time," said Mrs. Schaal. Turning to Olivia, she added, "You have an older sister, don't you? What does she do?"

"Um," said Olivia. Somehow she didn't think "these days, mostly magazine photoshoots" was the answer they were looking for. "She bakes? And, you know, goes to high school."

"Education!" exclaimed Mr. Schaal, as if the word itself made him happy. "So important. Not just for future career prospects, but for a well-rounded personality."

"Dad, come on," said Kristen. "Don't perpetuate prejudice against the working class like that."

"You know that's not what your father meant," said her mother. And, to Olivia: "We're both on the PTA at Kristen's school."

By this point Olivia was biting back all kinds of comments about how knowing the Pythagorean theorem and the main themes of _The Great Gatsby_ weren't seriously going to make any difference in her future career prospects. Plastering on her brightest smile, she said, "Gosh, I'm sure she really appreciates you being so involved!"

Kristen kicked her under the table, but not as hard as she would have if she were actually mad. Olivia took a delicate sip of iced tea, wishing she had something stronger.

 

~*~

 

The Flash-animated versions of Shout*For had invited a bunch of the local South Park girls backstage, and were now trying to share "the excitement of purity rings." Cartoon Stephen used the phrase "our love of Jesus Christ." Cartoon Jon tried to opt out of that, only to have cartoon Tucker stomp on his foot.

Out in the real world, Jon was cracking up. Although if any of these characters made a banana joke, he was still going to get his hands on Matt and Trey's personal numbers and call them up to tear them a new one.

When the show cut to commercial, Anthony said, "So give it to me straight, Jon...you're not seriously into those things, are you?"

Jon hesitated. "You realize that if you're recording any of this and it gets out, I'm suing you for every penny of projected revenue loss from what would have been the rest of my contract."

"Not recording, I swear! I guess that means the answer's no, huh."

Jon splayed his hands in front of the webcam, revealing his bare fingers, and reined himself in from bowling his friend over with the full rant about creepy sexist rape-culture-enabling purity-culture fetishization. "You guess right."

"I knew it!" exclaimed Anthony. "The Jon I knew would never let some marketing campaign get in the way of tapping all the hot groupie ass he could get his hands on. Uh, pardon my French!" he added, when Stephen discreetly choked.

"Oh, like either of us was tapping anything in ninth grade," said Jon testily.

Anthony grinned. "Bet that's changed now, huh? I mean, if I had girls falling all over me the way you do, I'd never get out of bed."

"Well, guess what?" snapped Stephen, jumping into the conversation like a gust of icy wind. "Jon isn't _like_ you! ...anymore! He isn't interested in chasing people just because they'll roll over and open their legs for him. And maybe if you'd been paying attention like you were supposed to, you'd know that!"

"Whoa," said Anthony. "Guess _someone_ here takes his purity ring seriously."

And now Jon was embarrassed on behalf of both of them. "Stephen, chill," he ordered, trying to nudge his boyfriend back without more than an acceptable manly-straight-guy level of physical contact.

"I will not chill!" cried Stephen. He jabbed a finger accusingly at Anthony's screen. "You, sir, are On Notice!"

"Uh, okay," said Anthony. "Jon? What's he talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" snapped Stephen. "You abandoned him!" He grabbed a baffled Jon by the arm and shook it for emphasis. "You were supposed to call, and talk about how things were going, and make appointments to watch TV shows and play violent video games together, and then you flaked out on him! And none of us were really friends with him yet, so he's spent half his time here being lonely and miserable and it's all your fault!"

"Stephen, knock it off!" yelled Jon, giving up on acceptable contact and just shoving Stephen away. "It wasn't his fault!"

"But you've been telling people it is, huh?" said Anthony.

Stephen shut up, visibly confused. Up on the flatscreen, Kenny was showing off his new Flash-animated purity ring. Jon took a moment to catch his breath.

"I haven't told people much of anything," he said at last. "I didn't know they'd get the idea that...listen, Stephen, it was me, okay? I was the one not returning calls, and missing appointments and whatever. Not on purpose — I was always busy, or doing something like touring where we couldn't game in the first place, or just exhausted — but it was my fault."

The words didn't come easy. He hadn't even talked about this with Anthony; they'd just slowly settled into a new pattern where Anthony tried less and Jon didn't let him down so much.

"...Oh," said Stephen, sitting back. "Why didn't you just say so?"

Jon couldn't answer. He'd had about all the brutally honest self-evaluation he could take in one night.

"My money's on Jewish guilt," volunteered Anthony. "That stuff runs deep. ...Jon?"

"Yeah?"

"Were you really miserable?"

Jon shrugged. He'd been trying pretty hard to repress those memories. "I could have coped worse. But...probably not much."

"Ah." His friend mulled this over. "Hey, man, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I got over it."

"No, really," insisted Anthony. "If I hadn't just figured you were blowing me off to party with your awesome new Hollywood friends, I would've tried harder."

Jon swallowed. There was something in his eye. Really.

Stephen got his attention with a gasp. "Jon!" he stage-whispered. "They're doing one of our music videos!"

 

~*~

 

The trio made it through the rest of the _South Park_ episode without anybody yelling. Although the non-cartoon Jon did complain that a lot of people had worked hard on the video being parodied, and didn't deserve to have their efforts mocked.

Eventually the cartoon versions of Shout*For announced they were done with this purity ring charade, and wanted the band to be about their music, nothing else. (Cartoon Stephen briefly demurred that _he_ was plenty comfortable not having sex with his very serious girlfriend Lisa Munn, and didn't mind saying so. Cartoon Jimmy convinced him that that wasn't the point.)

A cartoon executive warned them that "the boss" wasn't going to like this. Stephen braced himself for a cartoon Brian.

What they got instead was a very angry Mickey Mouse.

Stephen couldn't cling to Jon in front of Anthony, so he fled up onto the bed and hid his head under a pillow. He shouldn't have to keep dealing with animated violence _after_ they'd put away the first-person shooters.

Jon was still laughing through the next couple of scenes, and fell back into what sounded like a happy conversation with his renewed BFF, so Stephen decided not to interrupt them.

Eventually Jon got up on his knees to lean across the bed and pat Stephen on the shoulder. "You can come out now. The Mouse is gone," he said soothingly. "Um, would you be mad if we just kept the TV on? I know you and me were supposed to be hanging out today, but it's been ages since me and Anthony caught _The Daily Show_ together, so...."

"Sorry, can't stay!" cut in Anthony. "It's late over here, and I've gotta get up early tomorrow."

Stephen leaned over the edge of the mattress to frown at him. "You aren't still in school, are you?"

"Dude, it's July," came the cheerful reply from the speakers. "You guys aren't the only ones who get to have summer jobs, you know. We can watch when you're home on break, though, right?"

Jon broke into a sheepish smile. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

 

~*~

 

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
So the plan 2 charm ur parents was a bust huh?

 **Kristen ಡ_ಡ**  
I'm soooo sorry! I swear I did not expect it to go that badly :(((

 **Kristen ಡ_ಡ**  
I wanted to yell at them. But what if they got mad and pulled me out of work?

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
no prob, I get it.

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
parental figures suck sometimes. u do what u gotta do.

 **Kristen ಡ_ಡ**  
I'm so glad you understand!

 **Kristen ಡ_ಡ**  
And thank you for not snapping at them, even though I know they deserved it.

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
All thanx 2 the incredible pwrs of restraint that true love can bring <3

 **< 3 Olivia <3**  
Just never ask me 2 do that again & we can call it even.

 

~*~

 

Jon sat with Stephen by the front window as they waited for his ride to arrive.

It was too open here to cuddle, but Jon rested his hand on Stephen's leg. "Thanks," he said softly.

"You're welcome," said Stephen. "For what?"

 _For being part of the reason I'm not lonely and miserable any more._ "For, you know...standing up for me. Or thinking you were. And for getting me and Anthony to talk."

Stephen flashed a shy, proud smile and closed his hand over Jon's. "I find there are very few problems that can't be solved by shouting."


End file.
